CATALOGUE OF PLAYS 

FOR SALE BY 

WILLIAM V. SPENCER, 

128 M-ASBINGTON STEEET, COU. OF WATER STREET, BOSTON. 

Price 12 l-2cents each. Sentfree of postage to any part of the United States 



Anthony & Cleopatra 

Anne Blake 

Adopted Child 

Ambrose Gwinett. 

Agues de Vere 

Apostate 

As You Like It 

All that Glitters 

Abon Hassan 

Avalanche 

Aladdin 

All in the Dark 

Anatomist 

Agreeable Surprise 

All for Love 

Bryan O'Linn 

Betsy Baker 

Bachelor's Bedroom 

Black- Eyed Susan 

Bamboozling 

Barrack Room 

Blue Devils 

Born to good Luck 

Box ami Cox 

Box ami Cox Married 

and Settled 
Brutus 

Bombastes Furioso 
Bottle 'the 
Boots at the Swan 
Borrowed Feathers 
Black-Eyed Sukey 
Bona Fide Travellers 
Bridal The 
Bertram 

Beauty and the Beast 
Bloomer Costume 
Begone dull Care 
Brazen Drum 
Brother and Sister 
Ben Bolt 

Breach of Promise 
Bottle Imp 
Black Beard. 
Blind Bargain. 
Brigand The 
Br an Boroihme. 
Bee Hive 

Carpenter of Pvouen 
Courier of Lyons 
Comfortable Service 
Camille. 

Clock Makers Hat The 
Comedy of Errors 
Clari 
Charles II 

" XII 
Clandestine Marriage 
Corsican Brothers 
Ciu-e for the Heartache 
Cure fr.r Lo\e 
Caispaw 'the 
Critic The 



Civilization ■ 

Chimney Piece 

Capt of tlij Watch 

Cocknies in California 

Cherry and Fan- Star 

Curfew The 

David Copperfield 

Drama at Home 

Dumb Girl of Genoa 

Dream at Sea , 

Delusion The 

Dumb Belle The 

Deaf as a Post 

Dead Shot 

Don Ceasar de Bazan 

Day after the Wedding 

Drunkard 'the 

Duenna The 

Delicate Ground 

Damon and Pythias 

Douglas 

Devil to Pay 

Double bedded Room 

Day in Paris 

Did you ever send your 

Wife, &c 
Dombey cS: Son 
Ernestine 
Eion Boy The 
Evadue 
Elder Brother 
Ella Rosenburg 
Fireman The 
Forty Thieves 
First of April 
Fortress of Sorrento 
From Village to Court 
Fish out of Water 
False and Constant 
Falls of Clyde 
Forest Rose 'the . 
JFirst Night " 
I First Printer 
1 Flying Dutchman 
jFazio 

iFollies of a Night 
I Forest of Bondy 
Faint Heart 
I Feudal 'limes 
iFloating Beacon 
! Flight to America 
jGood Run for it. 
Game of Romps 
Game of Life 
Guttle and Gulpit 
Gamester The 
Geo. Barnwell 
Grandfather Whitehead 
Guy Manntriiig 
Grimshaw, Bagshaw and 

Bradshaw 
Go to bed Tom 
Good for Nothing 



Game of Love 
Good Night's Rest 
Garrick Fever The 
Gissippus 
Golden Farmer 
Grist to the Mill 
Hamlet 

Hunchback The 
Hay market Spruig' Meet- 
ing 
Honeymoon The 
Htir at Law 
How to pay the Rent 
His last Legs 
Heads or Tails 
Happy Man 
Highland Reel 
High Life below Stairs 
Helping Hands 
Heart of Mid Lothian 
Idiot Witness 
Ireland and j\merica 
Irish Tiger 
Irish Assurance 
Ingomar 
Ion 
Irish Ambassador 

" Attorney 

" Lion 

" Tutor 
Iron Chest 
Invisible Prince 
Is he Jealous 
Ireland as itis 
.John Di Procida 
Jenny Lind 
John Bull 
Jack Sheppard 
Jealous Wife The 
Jacobite The 
Julius Ca'sar 
Jane Shore 
John Jones 
Xing Lear 

" John 

« Henry IV 

" " VIII 
Kiss in the Dark 
King of the Commons 
Katharine and Petrucio 
King's Rival 
Kill or Cure 
Lestoque 
liO Zingaro 
Luke Somerton 
Lottery Ticket 
Limerick Boy The 
La To ur de Nesle 
Ladies Beware 
Leap Year Ihe 
Lawyers 'J he 
Lend me five Shillings 
Lady of the Lake 



Ten of the above for One Dollar, 



SPENCER'S BOSTON THEATRE No. CVI. 



THE BRITISH SLA YE; 



OR, 



SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER'S LIFE, 
gill ©nginal §mm, 

IN FOUR ACT.S.j 

J. Bi^" H O \7 E, ESQ., 

AUTHOR OF THE WIFE's DREAM, THE AVILL AND THE WAY, 

JOHANNA or SWEDEN, OR THE SIGNAL ROCKET, BLEAK 

HILLS OF ERIN, PILGRIM' S PROGRESS, IDA MAY, ETC. 



MOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 



WITH ORIGINAL CASTS, COSTUMES, AND ALL THE 
STAGE BUSINESS. 



BOSTON: 
WILLIAM V. SPENCER, 

128 WASHixaTON Street, (cohner op Water.) 

Entered, npconUng to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by J. B. Howe, in the Clerk's Office 
of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



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THE BRITISH SLAVE; 



SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER'S LIFE 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — Exterior of a Barber s Shop, with the icords " Obadjah 
Bates, Village Hairdresser and Perfumer," over the door. Under 
the shop rvindow, the words *^ Beautiful Bears Grease. — Five fat 
bears imported and killed o)t the premises." 

Enter Jerry Slowem, the barber's apprentice, L. 1 e. (^Looldng off.) 

Jerry. My eyes, Avhat a stunner ! He must be a general or a 
corporal ! What does he want here in the village of Oakleigh ? 
Shouldn't Avonder if he ain't arter some 'emits. A thought strikes me. 
If stingy old Bates, my master, "wollops me again, I'm blessed if I 
don't march boldly up to that sojer chap, and ask him to 'list me. Per- 
haps I should become a captain — or a drummer's boy. Who knows? 
W^onderful things takes place nowadays ; for instance, I never 
thought I should be in love till to-day — but O, the sudden reverrul- 
tion that came over me in a moment ! When I think of it, it makes 
my knees knock together, my teeth to chatter, and my mouth to 
water ; but, ah, here comes Mr. Bates and all the village gossips ! 
What's up nov,', I wonder ? 

Enter Bates, a Butcher, a Bakek, a Tailor, and Bushel, 
the landlord of the lioi/al Oak. 

Butcher. How dare you, Mr. Bates, question my judgment upon 
the matter ? I distinctly say that he's a captain ! 

Baker. And I assert that he's a Meld-niartial corporal. 

Bates. NoAv, gentlemen, will you allow me to explain ? 

Tailor. Gentlemen, you may say and think what you like, but I 
most positively atiirm that he's a court-martial di-um major ! 

Butcher. Nonsense ! 

Baker. O, no ; that can't be ! 

Bates. Gentlemen — gentlemen — am I allowed to speak ? 

Tailor. Most assuredly, ;Mr, Bates, you are allowed to speak. So, 
therefore, speak aloud. 

(3) 



4 THE BllIXISII SLAVE ; OK, [ACT I. 

Bates. Tcry "svell, then, — I can assure yon, gentlemen, you are 
all wrong ! The perjion you allude to is no more or less than a com- 
mon sergeant, a recruiting sergeant, gentlemen ! Didn't you see those 
colors flying from his hat ? 

Butcher. "What colors dees ho naean ? 

Bates. What colors ? Why, they are the same to the sergeant that 
wears them, as the three balls are to the paAvnbroker's shop, the sign 
to an inn, or the pole to my shop ; for, as these indicate places, so do 
the colors indicate the man. Jerry, {turning to him,) any customers 
been ? 

Jcrrtj. A chap ca:ne for some bear's grease, and swore it was 
hog's lard. 

Omnes. Ila, ha, ha ! 

Taihr. I say, Bates, that's a smart lad of yours, Bates. Don't 
you think he is. Bates ? 

B.ttes. Smart, indeed ! The rascal doesn't knoAV a bear when he 
sees one. Didn't I kill a line fat bear only last week, you scoun- 
drel ? (7'o Jeriiy.) 

Jerry. A bear r — why, I thought it was a Guinea pig. 

Omncs. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Bates. Get in, you rascal ! I expect customers directly ! 

Jt-rnj. {Aside.) What a novelty that will be ! — I haven't seen 
one this week yet. 

Tailor. I say. Bates, — talking about bears, Bates, — you say you 
import your own bears. Bates. Now, Bates, the only bear I ever saw 
come into the village Avas one in a travelling nienagerie, Bates, a few 
months since. Now, Bates, if you do import them. Bates, how is it 
that we never see them ai-rive, Bates ? Answer that. Bates, if you 
can, Bates ! 

Jerry. Yes ! Answer that, Bates ! 

Bates. Silence, you varmint ! — (Aside to Jeriiy.) O, I'll make 
you smart lor this ! 

Jerry. "SMiat for ? — AAhat have I done r You're always knocking 
me about ! I mustn't say a word, — but I'll tell my mother, you see 
if I don't ! (Blubb.-rinyl) 

Bates. O you villain ! — {Aside to him.) Why, you see. gentle- 
men, I have them brought in an enclosed van, at night, — because, 
you must understand that, if there should happen to be any chilch-en 
about, such an unusual sight might create serious consequences. 

Jerry. (^Aside.) It wof^/t/ be an unusual sight ! 

Butcher. {^LnoJdng off. L. 1 e.) C) my eyes ! look at him ! If he 
tucks down steaks as well as he tak.s in beer, he'll be a pretty good 
customer to me, as long as he's in the village. Perhaps he n.iayn't be 
a bad sort of chap arter all ! 

Baker. And if he eats steaks he's sure to want bread ; so I think I 
shall go up as usual, and take my four pennorths in the parlor. 

Bates. A man who wears the king's uniform must have a clean 
chin, and those fellows who are good at handling swords can't 
wield razors. After all, it would not be as well to give him the cold 
shoulder, because he is what he is. Peace and good will — them's my 
maxims ! Perhaps, too, he uses bear's grease. So I'm for joining you, 



SCENF. II. 1 SEVKN Yl^.AKS Oi" A SOLOIKR's IJi'i:. 5 

gentlemen, to the "Royal Oak," where avo can wet our whistles, and 
ascertai)! A\'hat he's made of. (^Crosses to l. n.) So iollow me, geii- 
tlemen. 

O/HJics. Ay, lead the way, Bates. (^Exeunt Bates, &;r., L. 1 e.) 
Jerry. There's a shabl)y lot lor you ! They might have 'stended 
the compliment, and asked me to wet my whistle. I'm to look out 
for customers ; no fear of being troubled with them ; the only customer 
I've seen to-day was that nice creetur that lives at old Davis's, the 
magistrate's steward, and she wasn't what I may call a customer — 
no, she Avanted a pot of genuine bear's grease for her lovely hair; and 
I didn't like to take her in, so I up and told her it was only hog's lard. 
Then she looked at me, and I vinked at her ; then she vinked at me, 
and I looked at her again ; then she smiled, and then I felt — I don't 
know how. O, she is sich a nice gal ! Her soft Avoice has been ring- 
ing in my ears ever since, and my heart keeps kicking my ribs. I 
don't know what's the matter with me ; but I'm a wretched barber's 
apprentice. i^Exit into shoi).) 



Scene II. — A Landscape, 

Enter Fiiederick Lonsdale, followed by Lucy Davi:3, k. 1 E. 

Lucy. Dear Frederick, what has occurred, that you are so un- 
happy ? 

Fred. I cannot conceal it from you, Lucy : I have been insulted, 
cruelly insulted, almost trampled upon, by one Avhom the accident of 
birth has made what the world calls my superioi'. O, when I think 
of it, I wonder I did not tear the puppy from his horse, and spurn 
him to my feet. 

Lucy. Tell me, my Frederick, whom mean you ? 

Fred. Beloved girl, that insolent Gerald Redburn, not content by 
upbraiding with bitterest taunts, has threatened to deprive me of my 
bread. He has vowed that I shall work for his father no longer, and 
that he will take sufficient steps to prevent me from obtaining em- 
ployment at the hands of any of Sir Archibald's tenants. Such a 
cruelty, dear Lucy, if carried out, Avould amount to an immediate exile 
from the village ; and that it will be carried out, I have, alas ! the too 
painful conviction. 

Lucy. Exit what was the nature of the quaixel between you ? 

Fred. You know, dear Lucy, that I am no great favorite of Sir 
Archibald's, or his son. I think it is because I have been decently 
educated; and people in high life don't like humble persons, as I am, 
to have much learning. They think it opens their eyes to the injus- 
tice of the system which keeps the millions poor that the few may be 
rich ; and because I have been heard to say so, they have accused me 
of disseminating seditious ideas amongst the villagers ; and it has 
struck me, for some time past, that the baronet and the rector would 
be glad to expel me from the village. 

Lucy. Alas, Frederick, these are indeed ill tidings. What is to be 

done ? Shall I confess to my father that I love you, and 

1* 



6 THE BRITISH PLATE ; OR, [ACT I. 

Fred. Not for worlds, clearest, would I have you draw down your 
father's WTath. No, no ; I will keep all my grievances to myself. 
Ah, Lucy, you know not all that is here at my heart, — you never 
have knoAvn, — because my lips could not speak what my heart feels, 
or my soul thinks. Hitherto I have cherished a hope that fortune 
would develop some turn in my favor, and place me in a position that 
would enable me to claim your hand ; but now I am a man almost 
without hope — perhaps marked out as a victim to be crushed ; and I 
cannot, will not, drag you into the fearful vortex with me. 

Lucy. What mean you, Frederick ? Your Avords terrify me. 

Fred. Dear girl, 'tis better we should part ; that you should strive 
to forget me — to think of me no more. 

Lucy. Enough, Frederick, enoiagh ! I cannot bear this. No mat- 
ter how far your enemies may seek to persecute you, or what distance 
may separate us from each other, my love for you will remain un- 
changed — my constancy shall continue firm unto death. (^Embracing 
him.) 

Fred. Sweet girl ! O, there must indeed be something divine in 
woman's love, if it can shed upon the soul such cheerful influences as 
that which your words have now shed upon mine. Lucy, I accept 
this holy troth, and respond to it in a vow of equal sanctity. 

Enter Peter Davis, r. 1 e. 

Lucy. My father ! (Jii confusion.) 

Davis. Well may you stand confused. Yile, deceitful girl ! is it 
for this those frequent evening walks of yours have been taken ? And 
you, villain ! how dare you thus seek to rob me of my daughter ? 

Fred. Mr. Davis, it is an honest love I bear your daughter — a 
love which, mutually felt, has ripened from our childhood's years. 

Davis. (^Crosses to P..) No more, sir! Not another word upon 
the subject ! {Clutching Lucy by icrist.) Come hither, girl; you go 
with me to your home ; and I'll put a stop to your rambles. As for 
you, sir, I have but a few words to say. It is Sir Archibald's com- 
mand that you seek employment elscAvhere. There's a fortnight's 
Avages for you. (^Throwing down a ^J«?-5e, which Frederick does not 
notice.) And the sooner you quit the village the better. Come, miss, 
come. {^Drags Lucy off forcibly, R., by the hand, she looking 2^iteously 
back at Frederick.) 

Fred. {Crosses to R., looking after them. Bates enters, L., picks up 
purse, and exits, L., agaiii.) So — it has come at last ! The bolt has 
fallen, crushing alike my anticipations and my hopes. "Where shall I 
turn ? whither go ? Mean, paltry spite, thus to deprive me of the 
means of subsistence ! Poor Lucy ! O that such a father should own 
thee as his only child ! 

Retnter Bates, l. 1 e. 

Bates. Is this true, Fred, that you are dismissed the service of 

Sir Archy r Old Davis has just informed me that 

Fred. Yes, yes ; it is true. {Dcsxtondingly.) 



SCENE III.] SEVEN YilAIlS Oi' X SOLCIKR S LIFE. 7 

Bates, Vvx>il, well, don't despair. I cau't bear to see you in this 
state. Never despond, man ; 1 don't. 

Fred. You knov/ how I am situated, Mr. Bates. I only ask to 
eat the bread of honest labor, and this is denied me. What am I 
to do r 

Bates, Why, Fred, you are a fine, strapping fellow ; yo'a were 
never made for a laborer ; you ought to be an oihcer and a genileman. 

Fred. An officer and a gentleman ! What mean you : 

Buti'S. Why, that recruiting sergeant, that's even now at the 
«' Oak," says that promotion in the ranks is quite common nowa- 
days, and a fine, young fellow like you .would be sure to rise ; and 
in a few years you would come back to Oakleigh, astonishing us all 
with epaulets on j'-our shoulders and a fine sash round your waist. 

F'red. I thank you for your good counsel, ^Ir. Bates. If I remain 
many weeks in your house, I should not be able to pay you your rent", 
and I know you cannot afford to be without it. I have no longer the 
means to procure bread, and I will not live upon charity. My mind 
is made up ; and I will go to the sergeant. Poor Lucy, it will be a 
dagger in thy heart; but I have no alternative. Come, Mr. Bates, 
come. (^Crosses to i..) 

Bates. Ay, that's right ; now that sounds manly. Faint heart 
never won fair lady, you know, Fred. Why, you are sure to rise ; 
and then you will be independent of Sir Archy and all your enemies. 

Fred. Heaven grant thy prophecy be realized ! 

Exit, L. 1 E.^foUoiced by Bates.) 



Scene III. — Drmving Room in Redbuni Manor. Sm Archy, 
Lady Redburn, and Aunt Jane seated at a table, c. Gerald Ked- 
BURN lounfjing upon a sofa,'R., before the f re, smoking cigar, in dresS' 
ing goivn. Aunt Jane knitting. Sir Archy is reading a newspa- 
2)L'r. A small table near sofa, toith a tumbler of tvine upon it. Wine 
tqjon table, c. Lady Redkurn fanning herself, as scene ajiens. 

Sir A. I see your college friend, Frank Dash wood, has been gazet- 
ted to a cornetcy. 

Gerald, Whiat, then, he's cut the church — eh ? Well, I never 
thought he'd go into it ; it v.-asn't the kind of thing for him. Be- 
sides, a strapping i'ellow, six feet without his boots, wouldn't look well 
np in a pulpit ; his head would touch the sounding board. Then what 
a laugh there would be amongst the congregation ! 

Auid Jane. {Aside.) Yes, if you were there to set the example. 

Sir A. Well, I think, after all, if I was a young man again, I 
should prefer the army to any profession. 

Ladg R. Now, don't go putting these silly notions into Gerald's 
head, Sir Archy. I don't want to see him buttoning himself up in a 
red coat, so as to prevent the natural expansion of his form. You 
know, there v^-as my brother, the colonel, as nice and handsome a young 
man, when he was two and tv>'enty, as ever you coiUd wish to pee. 

Ja/ie. {Smothering a laugh.) As fine a fellow as our Gerald, per- 
haps. 



8 THE BRITISH SLAA'^E ; OR, [ACT I. 

Gerald. I suppose you meant that in yoiir usual ill-natured "svay, 
aunt. But you must not think yourself a beauty ; in laet, when the 
com in our fields gets ripe, I mean to ask you to stick yourself up as 
a scarecrow to frighten the birds away. 

Jane. No, you would do better, because it requires a manikin. 

Gerald. O, you be hanged ! And, now I think of it, pa, I really 
should Hke to go into the army. 

Lady R. Gracious goodness ! Boy, you mustn't think of such a 
thing. What ! an only son, the heir to the estates, to stand a chance 
of getting shot in battle ! 

Jane. Not he ! he M'ould always be \x\ the rear. 

Lady R. (^Petalant/y.) Now, pray don't interrupt. You see, 
Su- Archibald, what you have gone and put into the boy's head. 

Gerald. I'm s\ire he didn't, ma; for I put it there myself. 

Jane. {Aaide.) It was lucky ; your head wanted something in it. 

Gerald. It's what I've been thinking of for some time; but I 
must have a red coat. I don't like blue, so I lix upon the infiuitry. 

Jane. Yes, the infantry ought to suit a baby. 

Lady R. Well, after all, I think I should like to see Gerald in a 
red coat ; but mind, it must have gold lace — I cannot bear silver, 
particularly for a pale complexion. How you would astonish all our 
li-iends in the country, and what a favorite you would be tanong the 
ladies ! 

Jane. {Aside.) If they had any eyes but mine ! 

Lady R. And mind, too, it must be a regiment where they wear 
those high feathers. 

Jane. As tall as himself. {Aside.) 

Sir A. Well, I don't think there is any thing you could do better 
than take up a commission for some years. 

Jane. There ai-e &o many things he is fit for, it is of course diffi- 
cult to choose. 

Gcjrald. Well, dad, when will you lodge the money at Cox and 
Greenwood's ? 

Sir A. I will write up to London in a day or two. By the by, 
Gerald, I did as you asked me, and gave Davis orders to turn that 
impudent fellow — what's his name r 

Gerald. O, Lonsdale. Ah, there never was such an impertinent 
scoundrel. 

Jane. Has he been boxing yoiu* ears ? 

Gerald. The idea ! Why, if he had only waited till I had dis- 
mounted, I should have thrashed him with my riding whip. All 
those comitry louts are despicable cowards. 

Jane. So are some gentlemen. 

Gerald. But I hope you told Davis to get him off the estate alto- 
gether. 

Sir A. To be sure I did. The vagabond ! Why, I have heard 
thnt he actually talks to the villagers about their rights. The idea of 
the working classes having rights — it's absurd. 

Jane. To be sure ; they should have nothing but wrongs. 



SCENE lY.] SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER's LIEE. 



Enter Servant, c. d. 

Serv. So please you, dinner waits. (^Exit, c. d.) 

Sir A. Ah, I'm glad of that, for I feel rather faint. Come, come, 
my lady. (.SAe rises, and takes his ar?n.) Come, Gerald. 

(^Exit Sir A. and Lady, c. d Gerald rises, loith an air of 2)om])ositij.) 

Gerald. Aunt Jane, are you going to dine to-day ? 

Jane. Perhaps ! 

Gerald. Because it is my extreme gallantry that prompts me to 
offer you my arm to the dining room. 

Jane. {^Harcasticallij.) I thank you for your gentlemanly offer, 
but when I need your assistance, I will seek it. 

Gerald. Cvirse her impertinence ! {Exit, c. d.) 

Jane. {Rising.) Poor, ignorant jackanapes ! If all creatures who 
share as plentifully the blessings of Providence as thou dost, show as 
little gratitude for its bounty, woe betide any poor wretch who may 
seek assistance at their hands, say I. {Exit, c. d.) 



Scene IV. — The Interior of the Royal Oak Inn. Lonsdale discovered 
seated at a table, R. 1 E. Sergeant Langley', Bates, Butcher, 
Baker, Tailor, and several villagers, discooered atT table, c. All 
looking icith astonishment at Langley, as scene opens. Bushell, 

the liindlord, in attendance. 

Langley. {Dra?idi^hin,g a large cane, and smoking a long i^ijie.) 
Talk about the hardships of a soldier's life — why, its the most beauti- 
ful state of existence ! No\v, your lords and gentry travel on the 
Continent, at a great exj^cnse; but a soldier, gentlemen, can go ail 
over the world, at no expense of his own ! No, his king pays for 
him ! I feel myself, gentlemen, blown out with pride, when I say 
that for thirty years — lor I entered the army very young — a drum- 
mer, gentlemen — for thirty years, I have traversed all parts of the 
globe," at the expense of my country ! Is not the soldier adored by 
the fair, sex r Don't all the pretty girls run after him ? His clothes 
are all found him ; meals as regular as clockwork ; and plenty of 
companions ; and as for the ofxicers, a kinder set of men never ex- 
isted in the vv^orld. Now, you see me, gentlemen — I have the honor 
to be an officer. 

Bates. A non-commissioned officer. 

Lang. Yes, gentlemen, a non-commissioned officer ; that means, 
an officer without a commission. I'm not quite so high as the colonel, 
though not far off. 

Tailor. {Aside.) In his own estimation. 

L'tng. A soldier's life, gentlemen, is like sailing down a river of 
ro?e water, only taking the trouble to stop and pick the fruits and 
flowers from off' its banks. You spoke of flogging, gentlemen. Allow 
me to tell you it's a most delightful process ! It reminds the soldier 
that, great though he be, he is but a man. It purifies the heart ; it 
cleanses the soul; in fact, I may say, that I scarcely ever knew of a 



10 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OR, [aCT I. 

soldier being flogged, that he didn't, of his own accord, come back to 
be flogged again. 

Taltor. AV^alker ! 

Lang. AVhat's that ? ( Turning sharp round.') 

Tailor. (To one of the villagers.) Who was that said Walker ? 
Did you say Walker r 

Lang. You may think it's a lie, gentlemen ; but it is, I can assure 
you ! Now, perhaps, gentlemen, you have never heard of the cow tree, 
which, upon tapping, yields the most superb milk — milk ! 

Onmes. Oh ! — o— h ! ! 

Lang. You may think it's a lie, gentlemen, but I can assure you 
it is ; and in that same island, there's another tree, that sends forth 
beautiful beer, as fine as this ale I'm now drinking ! ( Taking up the 
tailurs pot, and drinking.) 

Tailor. I beg pai-don, Mr. Sergeant, but that's my ale, Mr. Ser- 
geant, ! 

Lang. Ah, ah ! Well, you must excuse me ; but it's my free and 
easy style ! 

Tailor. Yes, but too much freedom breeds despisem. 

Lang. Why, gentlemen, in the West Indies, I've seen tAvo rivers, 
divided by a straight line of land, not more than a yard wide. Well, 
gentlemen, one of those rivers is composed of nothing else but pure 
hot brandy and water ; you can go there, sirs, when you're ofl" duty, 
and drink brandy and water till you're intoxicated ; and by just turn- 
mg shaip round, you can imbibe as much soda water, from the other 
river, as will make you sober in less than no time ! 

Bates. But, Mr. Sergeant, I want 

Lang. I dare say you do, sir ; and so do I want to enlighten these 
individuals. Perhaps you are all fond of cocoanuts, gentlemen. 
Why, bl^ss your souls, I've seen a cocoanut, in the West Indies, as 
large as a gasometer ; and the kernel all solid, and comes out like an 
enormous plum pudding, so that you can cut it mto slices, and eat it ! 

Bates. But, my dear sir, pray permit me 

Lang. I know what you are going to say ; you are going to ask 
me about the vegetables. You should only see the vegetables that 
grow in the foreign countries ! Why, there's the cabbage tree, all 
covered with beautiful summer cabbages ; and by the same wise dis- 
pensation of Nature, the same country that produces these cabbage 
trees also abounds iir pigs, quite tame, and which, by constantly 
bathing in the sea, become so impregnated with the salt water, that 
you've only to catch one, pop him into a pot with a cabbage, and 
there's pickled pork and greens for you in a moment ! 

Bates. But, ]Mr. Sergeant, when you speak of the beauties of a sol- 
dier's life, what is meant by the stoppages ? And when a man en- 
lists, how much does he get in hard cash r 

Tailor. Ah, that's right. Bates ! Give it him. Bates ! Let him 
put that in his pipe and smoke it. Bates ! 

Lang. Stoppages r I don't know of such a word ; no such a word 
in the anny, gentlemen ; and as to cash — did you ever see a soldier 
without cash } Never ! He always has plenty of money, and spends it 
freely. Landlord, let's have another pot of ale. (Bushell runs out, 



SCENE rv.] SF-VEN YEAllS OF A SOLDIEK's LIFE. 11 

u. E.) Why, every soldier in the army has thirteen pence a day to 
spend in beer and 'baccy. Is this your screw of 'baccy, sir ? (^To 
Bates, taking tip his tobacco, and filling his pipe.) 
Bates. Yes, and I see you're nailing it. 

{Enter Bushell, with ale; he places it on table, c, near Langley.) 

Lang. Money ! why, we have more money than we sometimes 
know what to do with. Look, for instance, how I spend my money. 
Landlord, bring in another pot of ale, and a screw of 'baccy. 

Bash. Yes, sir, instantly. (^Running out.) 

Lang. Stop, stop, landlord ! There's a dozen gentlemen here pres- 
ent, whose acquaintance I am very proud to make, and I am resolved 
they shall drink my health ; so, instead of a pot of ale, bring in two 
gallons, and look sharp. 

Bush. Yes, sir. {Exit.') 

Tailor. Come, come, he's not so bad, arter all. {Aside to others.) 

Baker. I must say, he's improving. 

Lang. (T.; Bates.) Pardon me for not permitting you to put in 
your questions before, but have I the honor of addressmg the village 
hairdresser and perfumer ? 

Bates. Them's my calling, sir, and I flatter myself that for keen 
razors, hot water, good lathering soap, and clean towels, genuine 
bear's grease, and busmess-like despatch, there's none in the village to 
beat me. 

Lang. Ah ! well, I trust I shall soon put your talents to the test. 
I use an uncommon deal of bear's grease for the whiskers. Eveiy 
sergeant in the army is allowed a guinea per week to spend in bear's 
grease ; and, by the way, the moment I get a recruit, I always take 
him to the village barber, — hairdresser, I mean, — get him clean 
shaved, and his hair cut, for which I pay half a crown, — that is, 
when the recruit happens to have been recommended to join by the 
barber himself. {Enter Bushell, tvith ale, fyc.) But here's the ale ; 
now, my lads, drink. Here's, May the brave soldier, who loses one 
leg in the defence of his country, never go hmigry to his bed with the 
other, 

O nines. Hurrah, hurrah ! 

Bates. I say, Mr. Sergeant, {aside to him,) there is a young fellow 
seated just behind, who has unfortunately been deprived of a situation 
to-day. Now, I think I have persuaded him to join you. So you 
must make me some remuneration, or 

Lang. Never fear ; I'll make it all right with you. Introduce 
him ! 

Bates. I will. ( Going tip to Lonsdale, ivho has been regardless of 
all that has passed, in front.) Fred, allow me to introduce you to 
Mr. Sergeant Langley. I believe 

Lang. That's it. I am rejoiced to make your acquaintance. Upon 
my word, you are a smart fellow — make an excellent soldier. I'm 
very much mistaken {putting his hand upon his shoulder in a familiar 
■manner) if you wouldn't make the finest man in the regiment. 

Fred. If it is only for seven years that the enhstment is made, I am 
desirous of becoming a soldier. 



12 THE BKITISH SLAVE ; OR, [ACT x. 

Lang. You have been rightly mfornied as to the term, and never 
had I a greater pleasure in proffering any one the king's money ; and, 
therefore, in his majesty's name do I enlist you, thus ! {Putting 
money into his hand.) 

Fred. Now, what ceremony am I to go through ? 

Lang. Nothing more at present, unless you would like to take a 
drink with us. 

Fred. I tliank you, but I rather not. 

Lang. Very well, let me see. To-morrow morning, at about a 
quarter to ten o'clock, you v^dll be pleased to accompany me to the 
magistrate — from thence to the metropolis, 

Fred. I shall not fail ; and, now, I wish you good night. 

Lang. Good night, my lad ! {Exit Loxsdale, d. in f.) There, 
gentlemen, there's an example for you. He'll be a corporal in less 
than a year ! I'll not forget you — {aside to Bates) — but you must 
try Avhat you can do with some of these for me. 

Bates. I'll do my best — never fear ! 

Lang. But come, this room, I find, is rather damp. Let us retire 
into the parlor ; and, landlord, send us in a quart of brandy, all 
the cold meat and bread you have in the house, and some more ale to 
wash it down \ Come, gentlemen, three cheers for the soldier's life ! 

Onines. Huzza ! Huzza ! Huzza ! 

{Exit Sekgeaxt, and others folloicing, E., as scene closes.) 



Scene V. — Exterior of Bates's House. Same as Scene I. 

Enter Fredeiucic Loxsdale, e. 1 e. 

Fred. At last, then, the day has arrived that compels me to bid 
adieu to the little village that gave me being, without, perhaps, once 
more seeing my beloved Lucy ; for I dare not proceed to the cottage 
to seek her ! There is no hope ! I must quit the scenes of my boy- 
hood friendless and alone ! 

Enter Lucy, r. 1 e. 

Lxicy. Nay, Frederick, not friendless, nor alone ; for wherever you 
go, thither will I follow you ! 

Fred. Dearest girl ! 

Lucy. Tell me, Frederick, is it true that 

Fred. Yes, Lucy, I have enlisted ! What was I to do ? Every 
hope was dead ! 

Lucy. O, listen to me, Frederick ! Think me not too forward, or 
bold in speech, for it is this cruel emergency, this fearful crisis, which 
causes me to speak as I am about to do ! Full well do you knov.^ how 
much my heart is yours. I have pledged my faith to thee from child- 
hood, and Heaven be my v.itness, that I vvill never be another's ! I 
hold myself as your destined wife. I look upon you as my alhanced 
husband. If, therefore, it is possible for you to retrace the step you 
have taken, I will accompany you to the altar ! O, say it is not irrev- 
ocable ! 



SCENE VI.] SETEN YEARS OF A SOEDIER's LIFE. 13 

Fred. No, Lucy, it v not ; but even could I be saved from this 
step, would not you be wedding poverty ? No, no, Lucy, it is impos- 
sible ! Adoringly as I love you, never can I permit you to make such 
a sacrifice on my account. 

Lucy. Sacrifice ! What sacrifice can be made for the being we 
love ! O Frederick, if you love me, tell me how you can escape 
the shackles of enlistment. 

Fred. Dear girl, this is indeed a proof of your devotion ! By pay- 
ing back the bounty money I have received, with twenty shillings 
smart money, to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, and the sergeant's 
expenses, I might be free. But, alas ! 

Lucy. Heaven be thanked that it is so. And now, Frederick, 
you must not refuse whtit I am going to ask of you — and that is, to 
procure your release at ni)' hands. I will bring the money in the 
morning to your lodging, before ten o'clock ; if I should not see you, 
I can give it to Mr. Bates, and 

Fred. How can I testify my gratitude for all this forethought ? 

Lucy. Gratitude ? And do I not possess something which is above 
the comparative coldness of gratitude r 

Fred. Yes, yes, my love, my ardent, devoted, unchangeable love. 

Lucy. I must now return, for I know my father suspects the cause 
of my absence ; so farewell, Frederick, and to-morrow you Avill be free. 

Fred. Dear Lucy, my only source of happiness, farewell ! and 
Heaven bless and protect you ! 

(^Kisses her. She exits, R. 1 E., — Fred, into shop.) 



Scene VI. — Frederick's Ajmrtment in Bates's House. 

Enter Bates and Frederick, d. f. 

Bates. So, Fred, you are going to leave us ? 

Fred. No, Mr. Bates, I have changed my mind. 

Bates. Why, surely you are not going to desert ! 

Fred. No, sir. But I am not yet sworn in, and circumstances have 
occurred to induce me to retrace the step I have taken, by paying 
back the enlisting money, with the necessary siun required by law to 
free me from the power of the recruiting sergeant. 

Bates. Well, well, you know best. — (Aside.) Curse him ! there's 
half a crowTi gone! — (Aloud.) I wonder what Langley will say to 
this. 

Fred. It can make no difference to him, since I shall defray all 
expenses. 

Enter Sergeant IjXThGTuBY, followed by two soldiers, d. f. 

Lane/. Ah, Lonsdale, my lad, you are here, I find, according to 
appointment. Nothing like punctuality. It is nov\- a quarter to ten 
precisely. I am now going up to the Oak for the rest of my men. 
I'll call for you as we come back, and you can accompany me to Sir 
Archibald's to be sworn m. 
2 



14 THE BRITISH SLA"V-E ; OR, [ACT I 

Fred. I beg pardon, ]Mr. Langley, but my mind is changed. 

Lang. What mean you ? You are not goiiig to shirk olf ? 

Fred. According to the 35th clau^-e of the ^Mutiny Act, any soldier 
declaring his dissent from the enlistment, and on returning the enlist- 
ing money, with twenty shilHngs for his expenses incurred, together 
with the sergeant's fee, shall be discharged forthwith. Is it not so ? 

Lang. "Well, if this ain't the shabbiest thing I ever knew in the 
whole course of my life ! But Avhere is the money, you rascal ? 

Fred. I have it not, at present, but I expect it sent here every 
minute. 

Lang. Ah ! I'll tell you what it is, young fellow ! It's now about 
twelve minutes to ten o'clock: if the money is not paid into my hands 
at ten precisely, — mind, the very instant the clock strikes, — I'll march 
you up before the magistrate, wlicre yon Avill have to swear allegiance. 
I'll teach you to gammon Sergeant Langley ! Was there ever such a 
mean, paltry, beggarly rascal in the world ! 

Fred. What ! Beware, Mr. Langley, or 

Lang. You are my prisoner until the money be paid ; and dare but 
to lift your hand, or show the least sign of a hostile intention again, 
and I'll have you that moment placed imder an-est. Remember, you 
are not yet out of my power, and should you become wholly mine, I'll 
make you smart for this, or my name's not Sergeant Langley. You 
shall be a marked man. Follow me, Bates. 

{Exeunt Laxgley and Bates, d. f.) 

Fred. Should Lucy fail to send the money, I am lost. She knows 
not the time is so limited. O Heaven ! What is to be done ? 
(Jerry pops his hend up from trap, L. 1 e.) 

Jerry. Fred ! I mean, Mr. Lonsdale, there's some treachery going 
on about you. I seed, just now, Mrs. Davis give old Bates a small 
packet for you. She said he was to deliver it to you directly. He said 
he would ; but the instant she left the shop, I seed the sergeant whis- 
per to him, and Bates put the packet into his pocket ; and now they're 
both gone up to the manor together. 

Fred. Can it be possible ! O, the villains ! I now discover the 
real character of Bjites, the cruel, heartless coward. 

Jerry. In course he's a coward. See how he wollops me. But I 
say, Fred, if you wants to get out from this house beiore they comes 
back, now's your only chance, for there's two sentinels at the front 
door ; but you can come down this trap ; it leads to the back cellar ; the 
cellar door's open; you can climb the wall in the yard, and make your 
way across the fields to the old stone quarry, and I'll defy the devil 
himself to find you there. 

Fred. My preserver ! O, how shall I ever repay you for this ? 

Jerry. Never mind the payment ; I'll give you credit for it as long 
as you please. But come at once. (Fred, goes to trap.) Quick, 
quick ! I hear old Bates on the stairs. 

{They shut doivn trap, as Sergeant and Bates enter, folloioed by four 
soldiers loith muskets, icho station themselves at D. F.) 

Lang. {As he enters.) Now, you scoundrel, the magistrate is 
ready ; so come along and, — {looking round room,) — why, where 
is he ? 



SCENE VII.] SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER'S LIFE. 15 

Bates. {In astonishment.) Not here ! 

Lang. (Furiouslt/.) Where is he, I say ? 

Bates. How the devil should I know ? {Going up to loindow.) He 
couldn't have jumped out of the window. 

Lang. No, no, that is impossible. No matter, I'll find him yet. 
Forward, men ! and the instant you see him, fire upon him. I'll 
teach the rascal to outwit Sergeant Langley ! March ! 

{Exeunt, D. F.) 



Scene VII. — The Stone Quarry, with a bridge running across at the 
back, and stone ■pathioaij from L. u. E. on to stage. Hurried music as 
Frederick rims over bridge and doion pathway to stage. 

Fred. Thank Heaven, I am once more free ! but, O, for how long? 
Methought I heard footsteps following ; or was it but my fancy ? No, 
no, I hear them still ; then I ain lost. 

{Goes up to foot of pathway, as Lucy appears on bridge.') 

Lucy. Frederick ! 

Fred. Lucy here ! this is more than I had hoped ! (Lucy rwis 
down into his arms.) 

Lucy. What is the meaning of this ? AVherefore do you fly 
hither ? 

Fred. That villain, Bates, whom I thought my friend, is in league 
with the sergeant to work my ruin. The money you intrusted to 
him he kept, instead of delivering, and I am in the sergeant's power. 

Lucy. Ah, what is to be done ? 

Jerry enters upon bridge, and looks doicn into quarry. 

Jerry. I say, Lonsdale, old Davis, Lucy's father, has told the ser- 
geant that he saw you cutting across the fields and making for this 
place, and they're all three coming, with a lot of soldiers, and the 
recruits, after you. 

Fred. I am lost. 

Jerry. Here they come. I wish I may die if I don't give my old 
master. Bates, a somersault to the bottom. 

{He conceals himself behind opening, L. 1 e., on bridge.) 

Enter Sergeant Langley, Bates, and several soldiers on bridge. 

Lang. He is here ! Fire upon the deserter ! (Lucy throivs her- 
self betiveen Frederick and the soldiers, as they level their muskets 
at him.) 

Lucy. No ! Let your bullets pierce my breast, ere they reach him ! 
(Sergeant Langley is on stone pathway pointing to Frederick ; the 

Soldiers levelling their muskets. Jerry rushes from behind, and 

pushes Bates off the bridge : he falls into the water beneath, as act 

drop descends.) 

END OF act I. 



16 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OR, [ACT II. 



ACT 11. 

Scene I. — Interior of Guard House in the barracks at Portsmouth. 
A long table running up c. of stage; forms, each side; several sol- 
diers seated at table, some reading books, others stnoking. Huivi- 
PHREY (a soldier) is reading a newspajyer at the upper end of table. 
Tico doors in fat, K. and L. ; a large cupboard, or closet, L. c, in fat. 
Frederick Lonsdale, in tcndress unifortn, is seated at the end of 
table nearest the front, perusing a letter ; he appears pale and care- 
worn. 

Fred. Dear Lucy ! this is, indeed, a proof of thy undying 
affection ! O, how great would be the treasure, could I possess 
thee ! But no. Years of painful serAdce have yet to be fulfilled, 
more bitter taunts, petty tyrannies, and unmerited persecutions 
have yet to be borne Avith patience ere I can claim thee as mine for- 
ever ! I have, as yet, maintained the strictest guard over my ac- 
tions ; yet still do 1 perceive that I am, as Sergeant Langley said 
I should be, a marked man! 

Humph. I say, Lonsdale, I see here that that Gerald E,edbxu-n, 
whom you have so often told us was the cause of your enlist- 
ing, has actuall}^ been appointed {by imrchase of course) ensign to 
this very regiment. 

Fred. Can it be possible ? Then another enemy will be added to 
the list against me. 

Enter Langley, d. f. r. 

La7ig. Well, my men, make yourselves as spruce as you can 
to-morrow, for we shall have all the officers in attendance, to see 
justice done to that fellow, Morrison. The flogging will take place 
at twelve o'clock. Colonel Wyndam will be there, mind ; and 
you know what he is. {Coming down to Lonsdale.) Well, what 
are you moping here for r You look the most discontented fellow 
in the regiment. 

Fred. {Rising.) I hope that my looks, Mr. Langley, give you 
no offence. 

Lang. Yes, but they do, though ! I hate a sullen, miserable 
aspect ! I like to see a soldier's countenance as bright as liis 
breastplate ! But, by the by, do you ever hear from Oakleigh ? 
(Lonsdale turns aside.) Ah ! you don't choose to answer that, 
eh ? Perhaps you think the bailiff's pretty little daughter's pining 
and sigliing away, as you are ; but I can tell you it's nothing of 
the sort. 

Fred. Sir, I trust that you will not wantonly .seek to wound my 
feelings by 

Lang. Feelings ! Ha, ha ! the idea of such as you haA-ing feel- 
ings to wound ! But I know what's going on at Oakleigh. So you 
had better not Imoy yourself up with the idea that Lucy Davis is 
going to wait till your time's up. Such a lovely creature as that is 
not for a loio fellow like you. She was m.ade for your betters. 

Fred. {^Turning fercely tipon him.) Mr. Langley ! 



SCENE I.] SEVEX YEARS OF A SOLDIER'S LIFE. 17 

Lan'j. Ah ! do yoix itch to be in the same place as ^Morrison — 
to be tied up and flogged at tlie triangle in the morning ? lie- 
member, he is to receive live hundred lashes. You will have a 
chance of seeing how he likes it ; and if you dare once again to 
menace me, you shall try the effect of it yourself. 
{Drum heard loithout. Soldiers rise, 2Jiit on their hats, take up their 

muskets, S^c, and exit, R. d. f. Langley takes out handkerchief 

from his coat jiocket, lifts his hat up, tcipes his forehead, as if in a 

perspiration.^ 
I declare I'm warm with indignation ! But do not forget, my lad, 
that I have my eye upon you ; and I'll not lose sight of you for an 
instant. {Exit, R. d. f.) 

Fred. "What can be the villain's motive for bringing up the sub- 
ject of Lucy to wound my heart ? Not that I doubt her constancy ; 
no, no : too well do I know her noble dignity of soul to question 
her fidelity for an instant. {Rises, seas a letter upon the ground, 
which pU from L angle Y's^?oc/t(?^ when he drew forth his handkerchief.) 
What is this r A letter, and partly open ! Perhaps — ah ! Can 
I believe my eyes ? — Lucy ! — Gerald Eedburn ! O, let me read ! 
{Reads letter.') 

" Dear Mr. Langley, I am very much obliged to you for having 
thought of me. I am note postmaster of Oakleigh. You ask me xohat 
neics there is here ; and if that girl, Lucy Davis, frets about Lonsdale, 
— but I loill tell you a secret. Gerald Redburn has bought a commis- 
sion in your regiment, and is going to inarry Liicy Davis. She knows 
nothing about it : her father has planned it all with Redburn. They are 
to meet at the George Lin, at Coventry, on the 24:th instant, where they 
will procure a special license, and be tmited. 

Yours, truly, Obadiah Bates." 
{During the reading of the letter Langley enters, R. d. f., and con- 
ceals himself in closet, R. c. of flat.) 

Fred. Ah ! my brain — my brain will burst ! I shall go mad ! 
Am I in some hideous dream ? No, no I it is too true ! {Gazes at 
letter.) What shall I do ? O, agony ! A hundred miles divide 
us ; and I no means wherewith to reach thee ! {Pauses in great 
desjiair.) By Heaven ! I'll do it ! I will fly to thy rescue ! But 
is it not desertion ? No matter ! Perish all considerations ! Is 
not all that renders life dear to me at stake ? Yes, yes ! and 
though they tear me piecemeal, I'll do it. Y^es, Lucy, thy Fred- 
erick will be near to confound the villain who would destroy our 
happiness forever ! {Rushes out, l. n. f.) 

Lang. {Comes forward.) So, so I have thee at last ! {Going up 
to door in f. r., and calling.) "What, ho ! private Simmonds ! 

Enter Simmonds, second soldier, d. f. 

Follow Lonsdale ! He has just gone through the back court yard. 
"Watch him well ; tell me which road he takes from the town : he 
is deserting. ISIind, do not lose sight of liim for an instant. Re- 
turn here immediately. 

Simmotids. Y'es, sergeant. {Exit Sim., d. f. l.) 



18 THE BRITISH SLATE ; OE, [aCT II. 

Lang. Ha, ha, ha ! Now shall he find what it is to play the 
trickster with Sergxant Langley ! {Exit, n. d. e.) 



Scene II. — Parlor of the George Inn, Coventnj. 

Enter a "Waiteh, ttshering in Mil. Davis and Lucy, both in travelling 
attire, Lucy verg ^Ja^e, and almost tin conscious of what she is doing. 

Waiter. This room is strictly private, sir. 

Davis. Thank yon, yoniig man. {Giving him money.) I wish 
to remain undisturbed lor a short time. 

Waiter. No one shall enter vrhile you are here, sir. {Exit.) 

(Davis brings two chairs doion stage, jilaces one for Lucy, and motions 

her to sit ; seats himsdf beside her.) 

Davis. Lucy, the moment has arrived for explanation. It is 
your parent who is about to make known to you his intentions. 
Listen, then ; but beware how you create an alarm ; for I am re- 
solved not to endure any lovesick, girlish airs, much less to be 
moved at them, llemember what I said to you some weeks ago. 
AVithin the hour that is passing you will bestow your hand upon 
Gerald Redburn. 

Lucy. {Rises shivly, and If ith great firmness exclaims.) No! fa- 
ther ! never ! As I hope for mercy, never ! 

Davis. Then you still dare me, still defy me ! but we shall see ! 
If, when I am done speaking, you will do so ! — be seated. {She 
obeys.) Now, hear me ! If, in your wilfulness and your obstina- 
cy, you destroy the proud dream in which I have cradled myself, 
— if with a remorseless hand you dash down the fabric of those 
hopes which I have labored to build up, tremble, girl, for the 
consequence. I have made my will, leaving all I possess to a 
public charity ; and why have I done so ? Because if you continue 
to dare me to the end, if you drive me to the fearful end, which 
will remain as my only alternative, I shall, at least, die knowing 
that I have thrown as a beggar upon the world the disobedient 
girl, the heartless daughter, who drove her father to suicide. 

Lucy. O father, speak not thus, I imx)lore you ! You will 
drive me mad. 

Davis. Do not think I am uttering any idle threat. If you re- 
fuse to receive Gerald Redburn as your husband, I will drive you 
forth, with my bitterest curse. 

Lucy. O Heaven ! 

Davis. Yes, my bitterest curse laid upon your head, with all the 
crushing, withering feelings that my soul can impart to it ! a 
curse, Lucy, that shall cling to you throughout the remainder of 
your wretched life ! a curse that shall haunt you, like a spectre, 
in your dreams by night, and attend upon you by day ! a curse, 
too, that shall embody itself in the ghastly form of that parent 
whom you will have driven to die in the blood of a distracted sui- 
cide ! Behold ! {taking a pistol from his 2'>ocket ;) this weapon is 
loaded. 

Lucy. Father! father! forbear! {Kneeling to him.) 



SCENE III.] SEVEX YEAKS OF A SOLDIEE's LIFE. 19 

Davis. Yoii know my resolve. Gerald Redburn is here within 
these walls. All the requisite arrangements are made. He has the 
marriage license, and the clergyman is, no doubt, in attendance. 
Will you, or Vv'ill you not, become his wife ? or will you refuse to 
fulfil any of these details, and ruin every thing ? If so, deal can- 
didly with me at once ! I shall then know whether I have or have 
not a daughter ! Lucy, your decision ! Speak ! There is no time 
to lose ! 

Lucy. {Clasping his hand.) O ! by the memory of my sainted 
mother, I beseech you not to accomplish this wickedness ! No, 
no ! you will not ! you cannot ! It is too terrible ! O ! if you 
talk of suicide, it is / Avho shall become the victim ! 

Davis. Girl ! no more of this ! By Satan, I swear ! my pur- 
pose shall be accomplished, or I will do what I have said ! My 
word is pledged to Mr. Kedburn — a fortune is at stake — and my 
pledge shall be kept ! 

Lucy. What will become of me ? — {Aside.) Father, if I say 
yes, it will be my death ; and not mine alone, but another's — him 
whom I love, to whom my troth is given. 

Davis. {^Shakiny her violently by the ^crist.) Allude not to that 
man ! {Fiercely.) You must say yes. You shall, unless you 
choose to become my murderess ; and it will be parricide, Lucy 
— parricide ! I repeat the unpardonable crime ! Speak, therefore ! 
quick ! Answer me, yes or no ! 

Lucy. {Mechanically.) Yes ! 

Davis. Then may Heaven bless you ! You are my child again ! 
{She is still upon her knees.) Remain here for a moment only. I 
will soon return. — {Aside.) Now for Redburn ! {Exit Davis, r.) 

Lucy. What have I done ? O, mother ! mother ! where was 
thy angelic influence to dissuade my father from this cruel work ? 
Frederick, my betrothed, have I then, in reality , signed the compact 
which, at once, breaks all our youthful vows of plighted faith ? or 
has some unconquerable stupor seized upon me ? and — O, no ! It 
is too real ! — too frightfully real ! But is there no escape ? — no 
way left by which I can — my father is not here. Could I but 
gain the street unnoticed ! — {goes up to door) — and elude them ! 
Grant me fortitude. Heaven ! I cannot — irill not consent to this 
hateful union ! No ! Farewell, my father ! and a wretched 
daughter's perils be on thy guilty head ! {Bushes through door, R.) 



Scene III. — A Street in Coventry. A piiblic house in C, toith the 
sign of King's Arms, over the door. 

Enter Bates, in travelling dress, L. 2 e. 

Bates. It's deused lucky I thought of coming here to Coventry, 
to make it all right with that Mr. Mummery about an infernal 
twenty pound note I extracted from a letter, posted to his brother 
at Middleton, or I might have lost the i)ost office, and got into 
serious trouble besides ! Hovrever, he's satisfied with the explana- 



20 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OR, [ACT II. 

tion I gave "him, and believes it was all a mistake ; but, curse it ! 
I had to give up the money ; and that was like parting with so much 
of my heart's blood. Well, it couldn't be helped. Why, sure, I can- 
not so much mistake. {L'>okiug off, R. 2 e.) Is not that Sergeant 
Langley, Avith a party of soldiers ? It is. Why, what can bring him 
to Coventry ? Ah, I half suspect. 

Etiter Langley and four soldiers icith inuskefs, R. 2 e. 

Lang. Can it be ? My worthy Mr. Bates, (taking and shaking his 
hand icarmly,') I'm heartily glad to meet you. W^hy, what, if I may 
be so bold, has given you occasion to leave the peaceful village of 
Oakleigh r 

Bates. O, I haven't left Oakleigh. I'm here upon a little business 
concerning the post office. But I am equally surprised to meet you, 
so far away ; but — I suppose 

Lang. Yes, the fact is, I'm after that slippery customer Frederick 
Lonsdale. He has deserted. I have traced him to this city, and hope 
to pounce upon him soon. 

Bates. Then you don't know exactly his whereabouts ? 

Lang. Not yet ; but I shall tind him — never fear. He must be 
a smarter chap than I took him for, if he escapes me long. For the 
present, I shall billet myself and men at the King's Arms here. So 
what say you ? Will you join me over a social glass ? 

Bates. Well, I'm only waiting for the ]\Iiddleton coach, which will 
not start for an hour at least. So I don't care if I do. 

Lang. Come, then. Come, my men, Ave must billet here for the 
present. March ! 

(Exeunt Langley and Bates into 2)uhlic house, followed bij the four 
soldiers.) 

Enter Lonsdale and Lucy, l. 1 e. Fred, is dressed in a plain suit 
of black. Lucy ajjpears faint. 

Fred. Dear Lucy, we have at length baffled 3'our father's cruel 
design, and thou art now mine. O, what unspeakable joy did I ex- 
perience, Avhen, alter my long and painful journey, I sudderily en- 
countered thee, like some bright spirit sent forth to cheer the pilgrim 
on his lonely way ! 

Lucy. But, Frederick, is it not dangerous to remain here ? For 
should my father or Redburn have discovered my retreat, they would 
surely betray you to 

Fred. Nay, dearest, I apprehend it not. Thou art my wife ; and 
all fear seems to have vanished. 

Lucy. But how did you know Avhere to fmd me ? And where did 
you procure the means to 

Fred. Three days ago, I Avas sitting, AA-ith the rest of my comrades, 
in the guard room of our barracks, Avhen Sergeant Langley entered, 
and, Avithout any provocation on my part, began to upbraid me re- 
specting you, Lucy. When he had left the room, I suddenly per- 
ceived a letter upon the floor, and partly open. As I picked it up, I 
saAv, to my surprise, your name, coupled with that of Kedburn. I 



SCENE HI.] SEVEN YEARS OF A SC SRS LliE. 21 

read its contents. It was from that vii "Hates, describing where 
the wedding was to take place, and when had no other thought 

but of you, Lucy ; for I knew that you had not consented to it. So I 
set out that instant, and Avalkcd 

Lucy. Walked : 

Fred. Until nine o'clock this morning, when I still found myself 
many, many miles from Coventry, without a penny in my pocket, and 
almost starving with hunger, liut as I approached a village, an open 
chaise, drawn by two high-spirited horses, came dashing along behind 
me. The gentleman had dropped the reins, and the vehicle was 
SAvaying from side to side ; the horses were running away. I sprang 
forward, caught the rein ; and, although I was dragged along for 
several minutes at the hazard of my life, I succeeded in stopping the 
animals. The gentleman gave me twenty guineas, and pursued his 
way. I then obtained this suit of clothes, and walked on, with hope 
hi my heart. A coach overtaking me, conveyed me into Coventry ; 
and I alighted in the very street where, a few minutes afterwards, to 
my surprise and joy, I happily encountered you, my dear wife — for 
so you are now, thanks to the special hcense and the good minister 
who united us. 

Lucy. But, O Frederick, let us fly this place. I am all agitation 
and fear lest my father discover my retreat. 

Fred. To dispel your fears, my wife, I will at once inquire what 
coach leaves here for London. Once there, under a different name 
and this disguise, we may elude the vigilance of our pursuers. One 
moment, dearest ; I will inquire at this inn. 
(^Goes tip ioioards door of inn. Bates steps out from inn, titters an 

exclamation of surprise at beholding Lonsdale. Lucy screams, atid 

is falling, token Lonsdale catches her in his arms.) 

Fred. Dear Lucy, be not alarmed. 

Bates. Well, this is a strange go. Why 

Fred. Mr. Bates, as you value life, — as you hope for mercy here- 
after, — breathe not my name ; or 1 swear, by the unsullied image of 
this powerless creature in my arms, that moment shall be your last. 

Bates. i^Adcancing.) Come, come, Fred. 1 don't want to men- 
tion your name ; but I hope there is no ill will on your part towards 
me, for I can assure you 1 don't wish to harm you. 

Fred. Not wish to harm me ! How long is it, then, since a feel- 
ing of remorse has smote your conscience ? Was it not partly you, 
villain ! that caused me to become what I am. Did I not discover 
your hypocrisy and deceit in a letter you sent to Sergeant Langley ? — 
and you wish me no harm ! O, were it not for the sake of this lovely 
woman, who is now my wife, I should vent my just indignation upon 
thee by tearing out thy foul, polluted, black heart. 

Lucy. O Frederick, for my sake be calm. Let us not plunge our- 
selves into still greater danger of being discovered. 

Bates. This is very fine language to a friend. Master Fred ; but 
you will be pleased to be sparing of your epithets, for by raising my 
voice one note above its present compass, I could bring a person before 
you Avho would cause yovi great unpleasantness to behold. Sergeant 
Langley has even this hour arrived, with an escort, in search of you j 
and I know where he is stopping. 



22 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OK, [ACT II. 

Fred. Great Heaven ! Then I am doomed to misery unutterable. 
Lucy. O my husband, let us fly. 

Bates. I beg- pardon, miss, — I mean Mrs. Lonsdale, — but I have 
been insulted by your husband ; and I couldn't afford to let it pass 
without recompense. 

Lucy. (^Gives him money.') Take this, sir, and let us pass. 
Fred. {A.iide.) Mercenary wretch ! 

Bates. i^Countiiuj money.) Five guineas — humph! This won't 
do at all. You seem to have fallen into good hands since you desert- 
ed from the barracks at Portsmouth ; and, you see, I've been rmfortu- 
nately obliged to refund twenty pounds to a certaiia Mr. Mummery, of 
Coventry, through the non-delivery of a letter, containing that amount, 
addressed to his brother, at Oakleigh, and which passed through my 
post ofiice, and was lost — by accident, of course. So I could not 
think of letting you off for less than twenty pounds — saying nothing 
about the expenses I've been at in coming here. 

Fred. No, villain ! Sooner would I surrender myself to 

Bates. O, very well. (Going up stage.) If you prefer imprison- 
ment, a court martial, and ffogging, to the enjoyment of a young and 

lovely wife 

Fred. Yv^retch ! (^About to rush upon him. LrcY clings to hi?n.) 
Lucy. Frederick ! my husband ! I conjure you ! Mr. Bates, stay 
— I have sutiicient to satisfy your cruel demand. For mercy's sake, 
stay one moment. {^Gioing him a purse.) There, sir. 
Fred. No, Lucy ! 

Lucy. Yes, Frederick ! Shall our only chance of happiness be 
destroyed, while Ave have the means at command to preserve it? 
There, sir! {To Bates.) You will find twenty guineas in that 
purse ; it is all I possess ; and when you are parting with it, think 
that that sum was extracted trom a wife, to preserve her husband from 
an ignominious punishment, which your cruelty would have doomed 
him to. And now, sir, leave us. 

Bates. Ah, well, you see the lady has more sense than you, Mr. 
Lonsdale. But come, come ! let's shake hands, and bury the past in 
oblivion. ( Ojferiug his hand. ) 
Fred. No, sir, never — never ! 

Bates. {Retreating up stage.) Well, well, if you must come the 
grand, and must be so unforgiving, you must, that's all ; and so I 
shall say good by. 

(Lucy and Frederick have their backs toumrds him. As he is speak- 
ing this speech, he retreats gradually to the door of the inn, still keep- 
ing his eye on LuCY and Frederick. He beckons some one ; and 
Sergeant Laxgley steps out of the door, foUoioed by four soldiers — 
tioo of the soldiers tcith handcuffs. Laxgley tnjis him upon the 
shoulder. Exit Bates, r. u. e., laughing exuUingly. Frederick 
starts, and almost frantically exclaims,) — 
Fred. Langiey ! {Tuyj soldiers secure Fred.) 

La7ig. That's me. Put on the bracelets. This, being the second 
offence, will entitle you to live hundred lashes. 

(Lucy screams, and is falling, as Davis rushes on, L. 1 E., and catches 
her in his arms, folhwed by Gerald Kedburx.) 



SCENE I.] SEVEN YEAKS QV A SOLDIEll's LIFE. 23 

Davis. My child ! 

Gerald. {Advancing towards her to offer aid.) Lucy: 

Fred. {Madly. ^ Back! back! Touch her not I She is mine — 
my wife — my wedded wife ! 

Omnes. His wife ! 
(Frederick is in c, held hy the soldiers. Lucy, Davis, and Redburn", 

L. Sergeant Langley, r. Act drop descends quickly on picture.) 

END OF ACT 11. 



ACT IIL 

Scene I. — Interior of the Royal Oak, at Oakleigh, {as in Act I.) 
Whippersnapper, {the tailor,) Jerry Slowem, the Baker, Butch- 
er, BuSHELL, {tlie landlord,) a?id others, discovered seated at table., 
L. c, drinking and sinokiag. Mr. Roper is seated at a table, R. u. 
E., muffled in a large neck scarf, a great coat on, xcith a large slouched 
hat. He has a large scar upon his forehead. He is perusing a news- 
paper, and takes no notice of the other characters. 

Bush. Talk, of time working wonders, there's no mistake about 
it working many changes ; for instance, who would have imagined, 
live years ago, that old Peter Davis would have become what he is — 
a confirmed drunkard ? But I suppose it all comes of marrying a 
young wife. Well, he has cause to repent of his folly ; for I have 
been told that his wife's extravagance, together with his dissipated 
habits, and losing the situation at the manor house, has completely 
beggared him. 

Tailor. But, I say, Bushell, I never rightly understood, Bushell, 
why he was discharged from Sir Archibald's so suddenly, Bushell. 
Do you knoAv, Bushell ? If vou do, tell us, Bushell — if you please, 
Bushell. 

Bush. Well, from all that I have heard, it appears that young 
Redburn was smitten with old Davis's daughter Lucy ; and Davis, 
seeing that something handsome might be made if he could bring 
them together in wedlock, contrived to get up a clandestine wedding, 
(of course with the consent of young Redburn.) But not so with 
Lucy ; for from all accovmts she detested him ; and no wonder, for 
she was deeply attached to Frederick Lonsdale, who went for a sol- 
dier. Well, one day, Davis took his daughter out for a ride in the 
chaise ; and she, being ignorant of his motive, Avas persuaded by her 
father to take the stage coach to Coventry, where he eaid he had some 
business to transact for Sir Archibald. Well 

Tailor. Well, Bushell, make the story as short as you can, Bushell 
— if you please, Bushell. 

Bush. When they arrived in Coventry, her father broke the se- 
cret to her — that she was to become the wife of Gerald Redburn. Well, 



24 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OK, [ACT IH. 

after some altercation, Lucy consented ; bvit while her father was 
gone out of the inn where they had put up, to make ready for the 
ceremony, she, it appears, ran away. Davis and Kedburn made 
search for her, and found her with young Lonsdale, who having heard 
by some means Avhat was to take place, deserted from his regiment, 
and meeting Lucy in Coventry, they were united at once by special 
license. 

Tailor, Well, Bushell, well ? 

Bash. Sir Archibald heard of Davis's scheme to inveigle his son 
into a marriage with his daughter ; so he discharged him forthwith. 

Tailor. O, that was it, Bushell — was it, Bushell ? Well, I'm 
much obliged to you, Bushell, for telling the story so plain, Bushell — 
I am, upon my soul, Bushell. 

Enter Bates. All the characters, except the Tailor, turn from him 
and whisper to each other. 

Bush. Well, Mr. Bates, you are quite a stranger amongst us. I 
am very glad to see you. 

Bates. {Sitting.') I hope others are, too. Landlord, order me 
four penn'orths of gin, cold without sugar, and a screw. — {Aside to 
Bushell.) What is that person ? {Pointing to Mr. Roper.) 

Bush. He is staying at the house. He came from Middleton this 
evening. I don't know who he is ; he says he has business in these 
parts. 

Bates. Well, he has an orkard cut over his forehead, at all events. 

Tailor. And I say, Bushell, while you're about it, Bushell, order 
me another six penn'orth, Bushell — gin, Bushell — hot, Bushell — 
-\^ith a squeeze of lemon, Bushell, and plenty of siigar, Bushell ; and 
I say, Bushell, while you're about it, Bushell, order me another 
screw, Bushell, and a clean clay, with wax at the end, Bushell — 
there's a good fellow, Bushell. 

{Duri^ig Tailor's speech, Bushell runs to and fro, till the end, xchen 
he makes one rush off, saying, " Yes, sir — yes," <S,c.) 

Bates. Well, gentlemen, you needn't look so precious distant. I 
haven't brought the plague with me ; and I think you've been a dead 
set against me long enough. 

Tailor. Well, I do think Mr. Bates has been somewhat harshly 
treated. Come, Beagly, don't look so cold at him. — {Aside to 
Butcher.) I made him that suit of clothes, and he paid me honor- 
ably. 

Jerrij. {Eisi7ig ivith great dignity.') I tell you what it is, Mr. 
Bates, I say it for myself, — and when I say it for myself, I mean 
that I'm speaking on my own account individually and collectively, 
— I'm not your apprentice now, thanks to the kindness of Sir Ar- 
chibald, who has given me a place on his estate. I'm an humble in- 
habitant of this here villiage ; and it may be that I am expressing the 
opinions of other honorable gentlemen present. I say, therefore, Mr. 
Bates, that there wouldn't be no objection to you, if so be you would 
just clear up them little suspicious things what is floating about in 
men's minds agin you. 



SCENE I.] SEVEN- YEAllS OF A SOLDIIOU'S LIFE. 25 

Bates. What suspicious things ? 

Jerry. Why, I mean — and when I says I raean, it is that I want 
you to understand — leastways to comprehirad — both on my part 
and on the part of the honorable gents which I behold around me on 
this memorable occasion, that it's vispercd — and when I say vis- 
pered, I mean that it's spjke out aloud — that you, Mr. Bates, should 
have tampered with the wiolability of correspondence passed through 
your post office. 

Bates, {^tilrikiug the table tcith his fist.) I say it's a lie ! Who 
accuses me ? 

Baker. {Rising, and looking aiofally stern.) /do! 

Bates. Well ! About that twenty-pound note — I had to pay it, 
— and that shows I was an honest man ! But who knows that your 
brother, Mr. Mummery, ever put it into. the letter? 

Baker. How camed it, that long before my brother paid me back 
that money, Mr. Bates, that you went vispering about, to whoever 
would listen to you, that he borrowed that sum of me, unless you had 
opened some of the letters that had passed between me and my broth- 
er, at Coventry ? 

Bates. (Miung in a rage.) I deny it, sir! I deny it ! And I 
defy any body to say that lilack's the white of my eye ! 

Tailor. Hullo, Bates ! — that won't do. Bates ! — things are look- 
ing bad. Bates — precious bad, Bates; they've taken a turn against 
you. Bates, — you don't come up to the scratch, Bates, — you're in a 
corner. Bates, — it won't do. Bates, I can tell you. Bates ! 

Jerrg. I propose that a committee of live be appointed to investi- 
gate the matter ; and when I say a committee, gentlemen, I mean 
that three is to form a quorum — leastv.-ays that they shall be heligible 
to deliberate — and beg to propose further, that our respected friend, 
Mr. Beagly, be one of the said committee ; and when I say Mr. Beag- 
ly, I mean a gentleman which is known to you all, because you all 
know him ! A genileman, whose Vvirtucs is emblazoned in the hearts 

of all present ! A gentleman 

(JDaring this speech Jekry gets considerably exciti^d., and takes up one 

of the peivter pots from table, and keeps knocking it upon table, as if 

to give cmphatical effect to the speech. At the end (as above) he knocks 

it very forcibly on tlie head of Butchek,. Butcher calls out, " O, my 

head ! " ^c. They are in this state lohea — ) 

Enter Sir Archibald, d. f. All rise. 

Sir A. Be seated, ray friends ! Good evenmg to you all ! Ah, 
Mr. Bates ! the very person I'm in search of. Ah, Mr. Iloper, I'm 
happy to see you ! {Shaking him by the hand.) Mr. Bates, a letter 
■was posted to me in London, three days ago. It has been traced as 
far as the Oakleigh post office. That letter contained nothing but a 
five pound note, without the slightest information from whom it came. 
It has not been delivered to me. Where is it, sir ? 

Bates. {Confused.) A letter, Sir Archibald ! You had all your 
letters sent up yesterday, and to-day, sir, as usual. That one must 
have been amongst them. 



26 THE BHITISH SLAVE ; OK, I ACT IIT. 

Sir A. No, Mr. Bates, it vvas not ! The number of the note -was 
21,795. 

Tailor. {^Rinnmafjing in pocketS) Eh! AVhat I "Why, here it is ! 
Number 21,795 ! The very identical one. And it was you. Bates, 
who paid it to me. Bates, for the suit of clothes you have on. Bates ! 
If the note's a stolen one, give me the clothes back ! I'll strip them 
off you ! Five pounds ! V7hy, it's enough to rum me, quite, and 
send me to the poor-house. 

Sir A. {To lioPEK.) Now, officer, do your duty. 

(RoPEE advances, and seizes Bates by the collar of coat.) 

Rojjer. Now, you are my prisoner. 

Bates. Sir Ai-chibald — for mercy's sake — good, kind Sir Archi- 
bald, don't do this — it will be the ruin of me ! 

Sir A. Silence, sir ! You are a villain ! It was through me you 
obtained the post office, and yoii have scandalously violated your trust 1 
Officer, av.-ay with him ! 

Roper. First and foremost, if you please. Sir Archibald, we'll search 
the fellow. {Searches him.) What have we here? Why, actually, 
the fool hasn't had the precaution to destroy the very letter I posted 
myself, in London, to you, Sir Archibald, and which contained the 
bank note ! 

Tailor. It's all up, Bates, — ail up ! Won't do. Bates ! You're 
a 2^recio us scoundrel, Bates, — you'll be transported for it. Bates, as 
sure as you're alive. Bates ! Serves you right. Bates ; no pity for you, 
Bates — none whatever, Bates ! 

Roper. Come, hold your growling. (To Tailor.) 

Sir A. You must give the officer that bank note, {to Tailor ;) it 
is a Imk in the chain of evidence. 

Tailor. But who is to pay me for the scoundrel's clothes ? 

Sir A. O, you must manage as best you can. Now take him 
away. 

Bates. Mercy, mercy ! 

{They are bearing him aioay, as scene closes.) 



Scene II. — A Landscape. 

Enter Davis, someiohat intoxicated, folloioed by Lucy, with a little boy, 
{her son.) Lucy appears very much changed in appearance. Old 
Davis is almost in rags. 

Davis. And thus we meet again. Lucy, to what have you brought 
yourself and me ? 

Lucy. Am I not sufficiently unhappy Avithout this taunt from 
your lips? I care not for poverty, and as for privation, that, thank 
Heaven, I have not known, and shall not v.'hile I have hands and my 
health, to enable me to Avork. 

Davis. Your husband has this day 

Lucy. Father, speak not of it ! No one must allude to that in my 
presence, unless in a tone of sympathy ; and as you feel none, I beseech 
you to spare my heart any additional tortures. 



SCENE II.] ;<;:vi;>; iKAUci or a scaauEu's liivk. 27 

Davis. You still lovj hini, thenr Why, surely your dream of 
happiness must be dispelled by this tiiae ; and if you still cling to 
him, you may sink down into misery, and perhaps something worse. 

Lucy. Father, O, do not insult me thus ! Do not destroy the feel- 
ing of affection which I yet entertain towards you. 

Davis. Affection ! Eah ! Talk not to me of affection. Have I 
not suffered through your disobedience ? See what I am now — what 
might I have been — what might you have been ? A lady, Uving in 
comfort and splendor ! 

Lucy. But, father, all that would not have constituted my happi- 
ness ; for I could feel more happy in a mean garret with him I love 
sincerely, than in gilded saloons with one whom I detested. O, if I 
have indeed offended you, if I have been really and truly disobe- 
dient, yet, if ever there was a time when a daughter might expect 
to receive her father's forgiveness, it is now, when my heart is bleed- 
ing with painful wounds, that that father should pity and counsel 
her, when he should breathe the words of parental kindness in her 
ears, — this is the moment, and you are the father who should mani- 
fest that sympathy. 

Davis. No ! Never will I forgive thee, while you are with that 
man. So now I bid you farewell. 

Lucy. One kind word — only one — for this dear child's sake ; one 
kind word ere you leave me ! 

Davis. Lucy, it is the child of him I hate more than any other 
man in the world ! 

Lucy. But it is my child — your daughter's child — look at him ! 
He has not offended you, and it is cruel to visit your wrath upon it. 

Davis. Away with it ! I throw you off forever; and I leave my 
curse behind me ! (Exit, R.) 

Lu£y. O Heaven, he has cursed me ! My own father has cursed 
me ! 

Enter GtERALD Reduurx, r. 1 e., in officer's undress uniform. 

Gerald. Ah, Lucy ! It's a long time, Lucy Davis, since you and 
I met. How well you are looking, to be sure ! Upon my word, you 
grow handsomer than ever ! 

Lucy. Sir, I trust you will proceed on your way. I am not a fit 
person to hold converse with thee ; therefore 

Gerald. No, by Heaven, we don't part like this. You know that 
I have long loved you, and now we will have a bit of~ chat together. 

Lucy. Sir, is this a fit time to insult me, while my poor husband is 
even now under sentence of a punishment the most fearful to contem- 
plate, and to which you aided to subject him ? Ah, sir ! Begone, 
begone ! 

Gurald. This is all nonsense. Come, come, Lticy, you are too good 
for a poor soldier's Avife. You know w^hat he has to endure to-day ; 
if, therefore, you consent to be agreeable, why, it is in my power to 
mitigate the punishment. Consent to my former proposal, and I will 
make a lady of you. 

Lucy. O, this is too much ! Leave me, sir, or I will call for as- 
sistance. 



28 TH>; BiiiTiiii SLAVE ; on, [act hi. 

Gerald. (^Approaches her, ir/J;-s her by the hand, and puts his arm 
forcibly around her waist.) By ileaven, you are superbly handsome ! 

Lucy. Mr. Hedburn, unhand ine ! Help, help ! 

Gerald. Corae, come, don't make such a fool of yourself. I only 
want one kiss. 

Enter Jekiiy, l. 1 e. 

Jerry. Hallo, there ! What are yoii at, Swaddy ? Can't you 
leave the young woman alone? Why, as I live, it's Lucy Davis, — I 
mean, Mrs. I.iOnsdale, — and you, Mr. Redburn ! 

Gerald. Yes, yes, it's all right ! Leave us, my good fellow. 

Jerry. All right, is it ? I don't know so much about that. You're 
not that young v/oman's husband ; and it strikes m.e, that no one but 
her husband has any right to show such familiarity as you wished to 
do just then. 

Lucy. O, sir, do not leave me. ( To Jkrky.) 

Jerry. I don't intend to, initil I can place you in safetyv, beyond 
the reach of this — what do you call him, a sojer, ain't yer? Well, 
you are a pretty sort of a sojer, you are. Nov,-, I always heard that 
the army vsas an honorable profession. Well, it may be ; but if it con- 
tains many of your stamp, I can't say much for its professionals. 

Gerald. How say you, fellow ? Do you know who I am ? 

Jerry. Well, I ought. You're my niastcr's son, I believe ; and I 
think if he knew you as well as I do, he'd be almost ashamed to father 
you. 

Gerald. Insolent scoundrel ! But you shall repent this. Good by, 
Lucy. I v.-ill remember this — your husband shall pay for it ! And 
as for vou, feilo^-, mr father shall not keep you another dav. 

(Exit, p..) 

Jerry. Pooh, pooh! "S^ ho cares? He'll not get another in my 
place so soon as you may think. There, there, Mrs. Lonsdale, think 
no more of it ! But hovv- is poor Fred, — Mr. Lonsdale, I mean ? — 
you must excuse me — I've allers been used to call him Fred ! But 
how is it I find you abroad, when your poor husband is about to 

Lucy. My friend, speak not of it, for mercy's sake, or you will drive 
me inad ! I was hastening to the barracks to implore the colonel to 
mitigate the punishment ; I met ray father, v.-ho (Heaven pardon him) 
has cursed me — his only child ! He had no sooner left me, than that 
insolent Mr. Eedburn accosted me ; but you, kind fellov/, rendered 
me an a^Jsi^■.tance, for wliich I thank you heartily. I must now hasten 
to the colonel. 

Jerry. I beg pardon, Mrs. Lonsdale, but I hope you won't think 
me rude, if I offer to accompany you to the barracks. The poor little 
boy seems to be tired, and I'm sure you are not able to cany him ; so 
let me carrN- him for you. 

Lucy. Thanks, thanks, for your kindness ! 

Jerry. Come, little fellow, I'll give you a ri-de, pi-de, pi-de, da ' 
{Takiitg up child.) Lead the way, Lucy ! I beg pardon — I mean, 
2ilrs. Lonsdale. Come along, my little one. I don't know how it is, 
but I feel just like a father ! Well, perhaps I may be some day ; who 
knows ? " (^Exeunt, L. 1 E.) 



:iEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER S LIFE. 



Scene III. — Draioing Rootn in Rcdburn Manor, Same as in 
Act I. 

Sir Archibald, Lady Redburn, Aunt Jane, and Gerald, discovered 
seated. Gerald in his uniform. 

Sir A. Well, what about the court martial, and that fellow Lons- 
dale ? 

Gerald. O, it came off yesterday ; and in addition to the Hogging, 
he is to be branded with the letter D, a mark of disgrace that will ac- 
company him to his grave. This is the third time he has deserted ; 
and do you know, dad, they found him in very respectable circum- 
stances ; living in France — keeping a school. 

Lddi/ R. The idea ! Him, keep a school. A poor, mean fellow 
like that! 

Aunt Jane. Yes, it's quite a sin for poor persons to be able to in- 
struct their fellow-beings in the path of truthfulness and honor. 

Sir A. O, don't mind her ; it's only her way. But, by the by, it's 
very fortunate that our wise laws have instituted such a mode of pun- 
ishment as flogging, for such an outrageous breach of discipline. 

Jane. For shame, brother ; for shame ! You call yourself a Chris- 
tian ? No ; you are void of one feeling of Christianity, if you say 
such a la\v is just. I would sooner companionize with the fiercest of 
wild animals — the most loathsome reptile that crawls the earth — 
than remain in the society of a man who owns himself an advocate of 
the lash ! (^Risinq and going, L. 1 e.) 

Gerald. Well, I declare, here's a feminine politician for you ! 

Jane. There's a specimen of our wise laws. To admit of a boy — 
a stripling — that, as yet, has not the courage to look in the face of an 
upright, honest man, unless Avhen with his regiment he is empowered 
by our wise laws to do so. 

Sir A. Why, what is the matter with you, Jane ? Are you grow- 
uig crazed ? 

Gerald. O, yes, she's mad, it's quite clear. 

Lady R. Well, I must say, she looks as if 

Jane. Heartless miscreants, who uphold the horrors of the lash ! 
Do ye not know, cowards that ye are, that the scourge which you cause 
to be wielded against the back of a man, full often rebounds on the 
heart of a woman ? Do you never pause to reflect, that the murder- 
ous weapon which cuts deep into the palpitating flesh of the tied-up 
soldier, cuts as deeply into the bosom of a soldier's wife, his mother, 
and his children ? Where'er such men are to be found who tolerate 
this barbarism, I'd spurn them from the presence of those who enter- 
tain better and more Christian feelings ; and if they be husbands, or 
fathers, then I'd pity their wives and children, for they are the most 
vile of domestic tyrants. O Heaven, collect all thy most fiery indig- 
nation, summon all thy direst aversion and bitterest hate, to constitute 
one tremendous, crvishing anathema, to heap upon the head of the mon- 
ster who dares to avow himself an advocate of tha lash ! 

{Exit, L. 1 E.) 
3* 



30 THE BRITISH SLATE ; OR, [aCT ni. 

Gerald. Well, upon my soul, if she isn't the strangest creature in 
the world ! 

Sir A. By Heaven, she really is mad ! She must be mad ! 

Gerald. Well, I certainly shan't stand it any longer! — If you 
don't lock Jane up, she -will be doing somebody a mischief ! 

Enter a Sertaxt, l. 1 e. 

Serv. If you please. Sir Archibald, Miss Jane has fallen down 
in the hall, and I think she is in a very dangerous state ! I do wish 
you'd come ! 

Sir A. Ah ! It's what I expected ! Run, Martha, for Dr. Colo- 
cjnith directly ; she must not die for Avant of medical aid ! Run, run, 
at once ! — Lady Redburn, come and attend to her ! Gerald, fetch 
some water — I'll go and get the salts. Quick ! quick ! 

(^Exit, running, R. 1 E.) 

Lady R. Well, I declai'C — there's nothing but upsets and commo- 
tions in this house from morning till night ! Come, Gerald, dear, — 
I wish to my heart your father would get rid of your aunt, by some 
means, — for really it is getting too serious ! 

Gerald. You are right, ma ; not that I'm at all frightened, — be- 
cause a soldier never is, — but really she does look, at times, as if she 
could swallow me with as good an appetite as a boa constrictor can a 
rabbit ! (^Exeunt, L. 1 E.) 



Scene IV. — A2mrtme7it in the Barracks at Middlcton. 

Colonel Langley discovered seated at a table, drinking champagne. 
Sergeant in attendance. 

Col. Lang. Well, sergeant, if eveiy thing is arranged, you can go on 
with the flogging at once. I don't think I shall attend myself to-day, 
— for, to tell truth, I had rather too much to chink last night with 
Heathcote and Redburn ; but don't forget to lay it on as smartly as 
you can, for he's a confounded scoundrel ! Have you drilled the two 
boys well, ^\\iO are to flog him ? 

Serg. Yes, colonel, I kept them at it all day yesterday ; one 
seemed to hang back a little, but I threatened him with punishment if 
he didn't try his hardest, — that soon brought him to his senses, — 
and now I waiTant he can fetch blood at the first stroke ! 

Col. Lang. (^Sipping champagne.^ Well, I don't know that I've 
any thing else to say, — so you can proceed with the flogging at once. 
(^Carelessly .) 

Serg. Yes, colonel ! {Boies, and exit, l.) 

Entei' First Soldier, r. d. 

\st Sol. So please you, colonel, a young woman wishes to speak 
with you. 

Col. Lang. Who the dense is she r 



SCENE IV.] SEVEX Ya^ARS OF A SOLDIER's LLFE. 81 

1st SjI. She did not give her name, sir ; for she said it was 
no use ; but she begged and entreated a few moments' interview. I 
think she is the wite of Private Lonsdale. 

Col. Lang. Ah ! By Jove ! I recollect that Redburn told me 
she was a smart, pretty creature ! Is it so ? 

\st Sol. She is, indeed, sir ; aiid it was her beauty of which I 
have heard speak, as well as because she looks so very unhappy, that 
made me think she must be Mrs. Lonsdale. 

Col. Lang. Very well — I will see her. Tell her to come in. 

1*;! Sol. You may enter. 

Enter Lucy, r. d. — Exit Soldier. 

Col. Lang. Who are you, and what do you require of me ? 

Lucy. I am the wife, sir, of that unfortunate young man, Fred- 
erick Lonsdale. 

Col. Lang. Unfortunate, do you call him ? A crime, wilfully com- 
mitted, cannot be regarded as a misfortune that overtakes a person in 
spite of himself. • 

Lucy. Ah, sir ! if you kncAV all the circumstances, I am sure you 
would pity him ! 

Col. Lang. And therefore you have come to intercede for him, I 
suppose. 

Lucy. Yes, sir, — and on my knees do I implore your mercy ! I 
have heard, sii", the temble punishment to which he has been con- 
demned ! I do not ask you to pardon him altogether, because I am 
too fatally aware that such a request would not obtain a moment's 
consideration. But I beseech j^ou to mitigate the penalty. You have 
the power, and I conjure you to exercise it. O sir, you behold at your 
feet a wii'e, who is almost distracted ; and if I had dared, I should 
have brought my child, to place it at your feet, also, that its innocent 
presence might plead, in unconscious eloquence, for its father ! 

Col. Lang. Come, come! {^Taking her ha)i.d.) Rise! (Lucy 
rises — he places a chair for her, and seats himself beside it.) There, 
now, be seated, — and we will talk the matter over. You know that 
your husband is condemned to receive five hundred lashes, and also to 
be branded. 

Lucy. For Heaven's sake, be merciful ! 

Col. Lang. You are, then, very much attached to your husband ? 

Lucy. He is my chief happiness in this world ; if he was taken 
from me I should die. Not even our child would prove a solace, or 
a link strong enough to bind me to existence ! 

Col. Lang. Ah ! Then you love jovly husband so very dearly ! — 
well, it is in my power to mitigate the sentence, although the case is a 
very bad one. You see it is not the mere fact of desertion, but that 
of remaining away from the regiment nearly twelve months. 

Lucy. Ah, sir, but the circumstances were so peculiar ! Frederick 
had enemies on every side, goading him to distraction ! — Captain 
Redburn is one of them, sir, — and I know 

Col. Lang. Stay, stay, stay ! I must not allow you to bring up 
the name of one of his superior officers in this case. But you love 



32 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OE, [aCT III. 

him so dearly that you are resolved to leave nothing undone to pro- 
cure a mitigation of his sentence r 

Lucy. Ah, sir, is it not my duty to do all I can for that puq)ose. But 
believe me, if by any sacriiice on my part, I can achieve that end, — I 
could diminish but a single stripe of the horrible punishment that awaits 
my husband, — how cheerfully, ah, how cheerfully would I make it ! 
Col. Lang. You would make any sacrifice ! do you not speak 
somewhat rashly ; or is your love for your husband indeed so strong, 

that 

Liu:y. Any sacrifice, short of dishonor ! 

Col, Lang. But what if the only meaiis of obtaining a mitigation 

of yoru: husband's sentence 

Lucy. (^Rising and looking fiercely at him.) Enough, sir, enough ! 

(^Going toicards the door.) I thought I was speaking to a man 

Col. Lang. Stop — stop a moment, [Mrs. Lonsdale 1 If you really 

love your husband, as you say 

Lucy. I do^ sir, — 1 do ! Heaven knows how fondly I love him ! 
{Drum heard icithout.) What is that ? {Starts.) 

Col. Lang. They are merely making prepaiations for the Hogging. 
Lucy. {Stagg.ifring to a chair for support.) O, this is horrible, 
horrible ! Frederick — my poor Frederick ! 

Col. Lang. Now, it rests with me to lessen the pmiishment, — it 
rests with me also to hft, as it were, the baji from off him, and to 
give him opportunities of pushing his way in his corps aiterwards ; 
of obtaining non-commissioned rank ; and all this will I do for him, 

if you 

Lucy. Sir, my husband is too much iit your power for me to provoke 
you by expressmg till I think and feel, at yoiu- present conduct. For 
shame, sir, for shame ! is it not enough you have brought me to this 
stage of misery and desj^air, but your deadly hate must be levelled at 
my honor ? Farewell, sir. I leave you with this conviction — human 
you are not ; man you never were ; and merciful j'ou cannot be. 
Farewell, sir, and may Heaven forgive you ! 

Col. Lang. You are resolved to leave me, then — but before you 
go, perhaps you would like to see your husband ? 

{Going up to v:indoio, in fiat, and draioing aside the curtains, displays 
t/ie court yard — Fuederick tied up to the triangle, slrijyped to the 
waist, with the blood running dncn his back ; a drummer boy tchip- 
ping him xcith the cat-o' -nine-tails. Another standing toith a whip, 
xoith shirt sleeves up, ready to take his place. Tico drummers 23laying 
a roll as the stripes are given ; Sekgeaxt jyutting dmon the number of 
stripes in a small book. Redbuiin and other officers standing by, and 
ajypearing to enjoy the scene. The doctor of the regiment, with stick 
xmder his arm, and, spectacles on, and soldiers formed in a square.) 
Lucy. {Screams and calls.) Frederick ! My husband ! 
Fred. Lucy ! 
{LvCY falls senseless, as act drop descends, the colonel laughing, 
pointing at her.) 

(N. B. To give effect to this tableau, the fi^at, or scetie, must be one large 
window, from fioor to ceiling, with small sashes, and the curtain before 



;ENE l.J SEVEN YEARiS OF A SOLDIEIl's Lli^E. 33 

it miisi be taJcen up each side, with lines dividing it in centre, so that 
tchen the colonel draios them aside, the lohole of the characters in the 
background mag be seen. 

END OF ACT III. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Interior of the Canteen. 

Lonsdale, Humphrey, and several soldiers discovered, seated at table. 
Lonsdale is very much changed in his appearance. He is sitting L. 
of table, his head resting iqmn his hand, and his finger nails almost 
buried in his cheek. He has full uniform oti, tciih the exception of 
hat. The other soldiers are smoking, and appear in conversation. A 
jiot boy is standing n. of table, with two large tin cans in his hand. 

\st Sol. How much do you say ? {To Boy-.) 

B)y. "Well, you've only given me enough for two quarts. 

\st Sol. O, that won't do at all ! Come, Lonsdale, we are precious 
short here ; won't you contribute for once in a way ? 

Hump. You know he never does^ and therefore why put him to 
the pain of a refusal. We all like JLonsdalc, and are content to let 
him have his own way. 

1st Sol. But don't you knoAv, that a few days ago he treated us 
all to brandy r 

Fred. What is it you are talking about ? You want money to 
make up your subscription ! Well, I feel in a humor for diinldng 
this evening. Here, boy! (Giving him mo?iey.) Let it be strong 
ale, — the strongest you've got, — mind ! (Exit Boy.) 

1st Sol. Ay, ay ! that's the sort ; now you look like yourself, 
Lonsdale ! 

Fred. Like myself ! (Aside.) Would to Heaven I was. But no ! 
I am like any thing on the earth but myself. When I think of 
my unmerited suiferings, I almost loathe myself as an unmanly cow- 
ard, for not resenting them ; but O ! the slumbering volcano must 
burst forth ere long ; then woe to those v/hom its unpitying fury may 
devour ! Frenzy is at my brain, agony at my heart, and I feel a devil 
within me, urging me to something desperate — and I know that I 
shall be driven to it. (Enter Boy with ale.) But the ale ! where is 
the ale? (Pouring out some into a small 2^ot.) Let me quench this 
burning thirst at my throat. (Drinks.) 

1st Sol. That's right, Fred ; drink hearty; that's right. 

Fred. No, comrade, it is not right ; but 1 feel so utterly miserable, 
so broken in mind, so crushed in sphit, so completely weighed down 
with a deep sense of wrongs, that I cannot resist the temptation — 
which I have avoided for tv/enty-six years. I know that I am taking a 



34 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OR, [ACT IV. 

false step ; I remember the vow I made to my poor wife, when last I 
partook of tliis stimulant, and conscience tells me I am doing -ttTong. 

Is^ Sol. Ah, come, come, no more of that; we've all got the 
blue devils, but we mustn't give Avay to them ; come, here's a toast ! 
" A pretty lass, a full glass, and a pocket full of shiners ! " 

Omnes. Bravo, bravo ! Capital ! (All drink.) 

Enter LA^*GLEY, and a Sergeant, cmd Gerald Kedburn, c. d. 
Laxgley has a lighted lantern. Gerald is slightly inebriated. 

Gerald. Hallo, my men ; you seem to be ha-\-ing a rcg-ular orgie 
here; I don't mind a glass or two of beer apiece ; no one would object 
to that ; but by the size and number of those tin cans, you must have 
had six times that quantity. Langley, are any of these men tipsy ? 
Examme them well. Ha ! Private Lonsdale, isn't it ? I think you 
have a di'op too much ; doesn't he look terribly excited, Langley ? 

Lang. Terribly. 

Gerald. Stand forward, you fellow. (Loxsdale suhmifs.) There, 
now ; take the candle, sergeant ; hold it before his face, and let me 
have a good look at him. (Sergeant holds lantern to Fred's face.) 
What do you thiiik, sergeant r Isn't he tipsy r 

Sen-geant. Quite, sir. 

Fred. I deny it, sir. 

Gerald. Hold your tongue, fellow. No insubordination here. 
You have been drinking ale. 

Fred. I have, sir ; I confess it ; but I deny that I am inebriated. 

Gerald. Inebriated ! None of yom- fine words here. What busi- 
ness has a beggar like you to study the dictionary ? 

Fred. (Furiously.) Beggar ! 

Gerald. What, sir ! Do you mean to give me any of your in- 
solence ? 

Fred. I meant no insolence, Captain Redburn. I am accused of 
being drunk, since you do not like the other teim. 

Gerald. This is fresh insolence ; you may consider yourself under 
arrest, and it depends upon how you conduct yourself for the next 
four or five days, whether I don't have you brought to a court mar- 
tial. He has been punished belbre, I think. Eh, Langley r 

Lang. Yes, sir ; flogged. 

Gei'ald, O ! flogged, eh ? 

Lang. Yes, sir ; Hogged twice. 

Gerald. Flogged tAvice, eh r 

Lang. Y"es, sir ; and branded ! (Loxsdale starts, with a shudder, 
staggers toformy and sinks down xipon it in agony.) 

Gerald. O, the incorrigible scoundrel ! Well, well, he is to con- 
sider himself under arrest. Come, colonel, I must communicate his 
conduct to Colonel Wyrdam. (Exit, c. D., folloiced by Laxgley.) 

Fred. Hold, hold, reason ; do not forsake me, or AYith maniac 
force I shall immolate my enemies to the just vengeance that is Avrith- 
ing at my heart. O Lucy I my Avife 1 my child ! To what aAvful 
fate am I doomed ? Ah, I shall go mad ! — mad ! (Exit, l. 1 e.) 

\st Sol. It's too bad ! 



SCENE II.J SEVEN YEAllS OF A SOLDIER's LIFE. 35 

2d Sol. Yes ; for wliat he has done, he has suffered, and should not 
now have it thrown into his teeth. 

Ui Sol. I'll tell you what it is, comrades ; there'll never be any 
justice in the araiy till the officers rise from the ranks, as the non- 
commissioned officers do. 

Hiimi). Ah ! so say I ! Why, in France, the National Guard 
elect their officers every year, and there's as good discipline amongst 
them as there is in the regular army. In the United States, too, the 
militia elect their own officers, and the American militia is just as 
good jis any regular army in the world. My brother has written, and 
told me how the thing works there. Ah, America is the place for true 
f'reedoin. With all our talk and bluster, we are only a set of slaves, 
in comparison with the people of the great American Union ; and as 
for flogging, why, the British army is almost the only one in the world 
where it now exists. So I suppose we English soldiers are considered 
a set of brutes and barbarians, that cannot be kept in order without 
the lash! 

\st Sol. Mum ! Hare comes the sergeant. 

Unter Sergeant, c. d. 

Serff. Now, then, fall in for the piquet. (Soldiers fall in.) March ! 
{^Exeunt soldiers , c. D. 8eugeani folloiving.) 

Scene II. — A Portion of the Barrack Yard. 
Enter Lonsdale and Lucy. Lucy has a small basket in hand. 

Fred. Yes, yes, Lucy, I have had a httle to drink ; but you know 
not Avhat I suffer at times, or you would pity me. 

Lucy. Pity you, dearest Frederick ! You know that I more than 
pity you. I will not reproach you for having taken that liquor ; but 
ah, my husband, promise me that you Avill exert all your courage to 
meet your lot with resignation. 

Fred. Lucy, there are moments when I feel as if I should go mad. 
That villain, Iledburn, levelled the most diabolical abuse at me. He 
called me beggar. Just Heaven ! How did I master my feelings ? 
But I did, Lucy, for your sake, and that of our dear boy. I was not 
tipsy ; perhaps I was a little excited ; but my appearance was not 
more inebriated than that of my comrades. But I was singled out 
for punishment. I alone have to endure that re^Dtile's vengeance. Is 
it not enough to drive me Avild ? 

Lucy. Yea, Frederick ; but do not, do not, I conjure you, have 
recourse to any thing which may wreck the only hopes which remain 
to us in this lile ; for we are not without hope, Frederick. We are 
yet young, and when your time of service shall expire, we may settle 
again comfortably in the world. But tell me that you are not angry 
with me for coming this once. 

Fred, xlngry, dearest ! No, I am only fearful that you should 
suffer insolent conduct at the hands of those unprincipled fellows, 
who bear the rank of officers. 

Lucy. Look, Frederick, I have brought a few little things to make 



36 THE BKITISH SLAVE ; OR, [aCT IV. 

joxL as comfortable as possible, and during the two or three days that 
you will be absent, I promise that our dear little Frederick shall not 
neglect his lessons. How long do you think it v,il\ be before you are 
released from arrest ? 

Fred. Only the two or three days you have mentioned, dear Lucy. 

Lucy. Then we will endeavor to be happy with each other agahi. 

Enter Langley aiid soldiers, R. 

La:i(/. Hallo, fellow, how is it that you are not in the guard room ? 

Fred. I merely came out to speak to my wife, Mr. Langley, and 
she will leave me presently. 

Lang. Don't you know, sir, that you are under arrest ? Begone 
to your room, or I will have you put in irons. 

Lucy. O sir ! Mr. Langley, pray have some compassion for my 
husband's feelings. Do not, I beseech you, ciiish every noble attri- 
bute that should inherit the form of man by such outrageous cruelty. 

Lang. You be off; what do you want here, bothering the man? 
(Taking her by the hand, and forcing her over to R.) 

Fred. Officer Langley, that is my wife, and be you man, or be 
5'ou liend, I must and will resent this insult. Take that ! (Drawing 
bayonet, and stabbing him. Langley falls. Lucy screams ; one of 
the soldiers catches her. Frederick rushes out, l. Change.) 



Scene III. — A Chamber in Sir Archibald's Mansion. Aunt Jane 
discovered in arm chair, Sir Archibald, Lady Redburn, and 
Dr. Colocynth standing around her. 

Jane. Nay, brother, I shall be better soon. 

Sir A. But tell me, Jane, what secret is it that you so often speak 
of as weighing heavily upon your mind ? 

Jane. No, no ; not yet, not yet ; time will show. O Reginald, 
Reginald, to what have you brought me ? 

Sir A. {Aside to doctor.) She constantly mentions that name, and 
I cannot by any means ^^Ting from her Avhom she means. 

Colo. She is evidently laboring under some mental excitement, 
and she must be kept as quiet as possible; there is nothing serious to 
apprehend. Miss lledburn must have received some shock, or her 
feelings must have been greatly excited by some means. 

Lady R. And yet I cannot tell how. My son. Captain Redburn, 
had merely been talking about the tlogging of a certain soldier in his 
regiment, by the name of Frederick Lonsdale. 

Sir A. Perhaps you remember the name, Mr. Colocynth. He used 
to work on my estate, some years ago. 

Colo. Well, I will go and send up some medicine at once ; and — 

Enter Gerald, d. r., tvith news^^ajicr in his hand. 

Gerald. Ah, dad, have you heard the news ? 

Sir A. Hush, Gerald, hush ; your aunt is XQxy bad. 



SCENE IV.] SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER'S LIFE. 37 

Gerald. Well, I was merely going to tell you that we shall have 
another execution in our regiment — at least, so this morning's Ex- 
press says. 

Sir A. Indeed! And who is the unfortunate victim ? 

Gerald. Unfortunate, indeed ! I think it will be a deused good 
riddance to the regiment. Why, it's no other than tliat Frederick 
Lonsdale. 

Jane. Merciful powers ! My son ! my son ! {Falls back in chair 
senseless.) 

Omnes. Her son ! (Picture of consternation.) 



Scene IV. — A front Chamber. 

Enter Sir Archibald and Dr. Colocynth, l. h. 

Sir A. Mr. Colocynth, for Heaven's sake explain. 

Colo. I will, sir ; for what I shall disclose may prove the means 
of restoring at least two beings, who now stand upon the brink of a 
premature grave, to life and happiness. It is my duty ; and your sis- 
ter may hereafter thank and bless me for the step I am now taking 
to unravel this mystery. Listen, Sir Archibald : the unfortunate young 
man your son has just alluded to, and who has so long groaned be- 
neath his tyranny, is no less than your own sister's child, your nephew, 
sir, and Captain Redburn's cousin. 

Sir A. Can I believe my ears r 

Colo. You may presently — Usten. Twenty-six years ago, I was 
aroused from my slumber by a ringing at my surgery bell. It was late 
in the night. I answered the summons. A woman, whom I have 
since learned is dead, implored me to come to the assistance of a young 
and lovely girl. I consented, and accompanied the messenger to this 
mansion. Being midnight, no one saw us enter. I rendered the as- 
sistance necessary ; and a bribe of fifty pounds was placed in my 
hands to keep the affair a secret. The woman who hired me, and who 
was then an attendant upon Miss Redburn, adopted the child, being 
supplied with means to keep it in safety and comfort until it reached 
an age when it could take care of itself. A bitter sense of shame for 
her imprudence prevented your sister from acknowledging the child ; 
and the woman gave it the name of Lonsdale, — Frederick Lonsdale, 
— who is now under sentence of death at Middleton. 

Sir A. O, but this is fearful — the disgrace, the ignominy this will 
bring upon our house ! But she must have attention ; she's very bad. 
Poor Jane ! poor sister ! 

Colo. See, your son approaches. 

Enter Gerald, l. h. 

Gerald. She is dying, father. Jane is dying. 
Sir A. Heaven forbid ! O, hasten to her assistance, Mr. Colo- 
cynth. 

Colo. I will, sir. {Exit Colo., l. h.) 

4 



38 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OR, [ACT IV. 

Sir A. Gerald, when will the execution of Lonsdale take place ? 

Gera/d. Well, they have to await the decision Ironi the Horse 
Guards, which will perhaps be sent on Friday. If so, the execution 
would take place on Saturday morning. 

Sir A. And to-day is Wednesday. No time must be lost. I shall 
take my departure lor London directly. Hasten you back to Middle- 
ton, and see Colonel Wyndam at once. If I remember aright, he is 
under obligations to you ; you have lent him money ; he is still needy 
and necessitous. "SVcll, then, offer to lend or give him a thousand — 
two thousand — or three thousand pounds — any sum, so that he will 
do what you demand. 

Gerald. Why, dad, are you going crazy, too ! What am I to ask 
of him, pray ? 

Sir A. Hasten to Colonel Wyndam ; procure from him a recom- 
mendation to mercy ; and lose no time in despatching it by a mount- 
ed messenger to London. But beware, Gerald, how you trifle in this 
matter ; lor I fear me that we have already too much to answer for in 
the treatment which, from first to last, Frederick Lonsdale has re- 
ceived at our hands. I am now going on a matter of life and death. 
Be you here on F«day, when I return ; so that, if I am fortunate 
enough to bring the pardon, you can at once set off with it to Colonel 
Wyndam. You understand me, Gerald ? Away — away with you at 
once to ^Middleton ! 

Gerald. Well, but, father 

Sir A. No more ! Away ! away ! {Exit Gerald, l. h.) My 
poor sister, most bitterly have you repented of the rash step you took ; 
and I were indeed unworthy the name of man and brother, should I 
do less to alleviate thy sufferings than He did to the poor woman of 
Samaria. " Let him who is without sin lii'st cast a stone." 

{Exit, L. H.) 



Scene V. — Prison Cell. Door, L., in flat. Lonsdale discovered, in 
irons, seated on a stool. 

Fred. For the last time I look upon the broad day and the bright 
sun. My worldly course is nearly ended ; and in an initimely grave 
my bitter enemies can no longer harm me. But my wife — my poor 
Lucy — and my darling little one, they will be lelt without a friend 
or protector in the world. The bitter thought of that is a still 
greater pang to my heart than even the yielding of this poor lacer- 
ated frame to that eaith from which it sprang. 

Door opens, and enter Lucy and Boy. 

Lumj. Husband ! {Rushing into his arms.) 

Fred. My poor wife ! {The child catches hold q/" Lucy's goicn, and 
looks vp into Lonsdale's /ace.) My boy ! my boy! What will be- 
come of them ? 

{Sinks down upon stool, and buries his face in his hands, and sobs con- 
vulsively. Lucy kneels at his feet, l., xceeping. Child, r.) 



SCENE YI.J SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIER S LIFE. 39 

Lucy. O Frederick, what can I do to impart consolation to your 
soul ? 

Fred. My own beloved wife, let me implore you to bear my loss 
with fortitude ; for should you not long survive the loss of me, think 
what would be the fate of our boy. Who would take charge of him ? 
v/ho would rear him r ^vho would be kind to him ? ^\\\o A\-ould even 
give him a home and food ? Therefore promise me that you will exert 
all your powers of endurance to meet your unhappy lot with patient 
resignation. We shall meet again, Lucy, where the mahce of our 
enemies cannot reach us. So, do promise me. 

Lucij. I will — I Avill. 

Fred. Thanks, dearest ; thanks. And now I haye another, and a 
last request to make. Should Heaven be pleased to let my boy live, and 
attain manhood's years, O keep from him the awful fate of his wretch- 
ed lather, that he may not have cause to cherish a feeling of revenge 
for that father's murder ; for in my grave I bury ail earthly wrongs. 
Do this, my wife ; it is all I have to ask. ( faJdng up child, and 
kissing it.) Bless thee, my boy ! (^Riscs, ivith Lucy in his embrace.) 
And now, my wife, we must separate — to meet no more in this, but 
we shall in another and a better world. 

{He kisses her. She sinks upon his bosom.) 

Enter Humphrey. 

Hump. It is a painful duty, Lonsdale ; but I have orders to tell 
you the time is expired which is allowed you to be together. 

Fred. We obey, comrade. Lucy — come, Lucy ! wife! She does 
not hear me. O Heaven, art thou indeed so kind as to spare her the 
pain, the agony of this separation ? Bless thee, — eternally bless thee, 
— angel of constancy ! Thus do I imprint upon thy pure, but color- 
less lips the seal of a fond, doting, murdered husband's love ! Com- 
rade, (to soldier,) to thy care I consign my unconscious wife; and if 
you have any compassion for the feelings of a broken-hearted, dying 
man, see that she is not insulted going hence from this den of vice. 
(^Music. Humphrey' takes IjVCy from Lonsdale, carrying her towards 

door, Lonsdale kissing her hands 2)assionately. Child runs to him, 

and clings to his legs. He turns, snatches up child., and in a paroxysm 

of grief exclaims, — ) 
My boy ! my boy ! Heaven pity and guard thee ! ( Closed in.) 



Scene VI. — A front Landscape. 

Enter Reginald Herbert, a naval officer in the East Lidia service. 

Herbert. Strange how every step I take towards Oakleigh brings 
fresh visions of the past vividly to my mind. Twenty-six years 
have now elapsed since last I traversed this road ; and yet every 
thing seems as familiar to me as though it were but as many days. 
But am I not speeding on a somewhat silly errand ? Perhaps poor 
Jane is wedded by this time. However, I am. resolved to learn if she 



40 THE BrJTISH SLAVE ; OE, [ACT TV. 

is still alive and unmarried ; if so, and her love is still the same, I 
mil fullil the vow I made to her when I was compelled to leave my 
native land. (Bates heard unth)ut.^ 

Bates. Ah, help ! help ! or I shall bleed to death. 

Herbert. A signal of distress ! From whence came it ? 

Bates. ( Without.) Help ! help ! help ! 

Herbert. Ah, what do I see? A poor man iipon the ground, and 
powerless ! I come to thy aid, poor fellow ! (^Exit, l.) 



Reenter Herbert, supporting Bates, tcho is frightfully emaciated, in 
rags, and bleeding from the hands and throat. He staggers and falls. 
A handsome 2^i<'>'se and a paper fall from his breast. 

Herbert. Poor, poor man ! What are these ? A handsome purse, 
and well filled vnXh gold ! A paper, too, which has the appearance 
of a despatch of importance! {Reads it : *' Head Quarters — Ho7-se 
Guards — Frederick Lonsdale — Free pardon ! " What can this 
mean ? Doubtless this is some ruffian, who has accosted the bearer of 
this for the sake of his gold. Yes, yes, every thing seems to* warrant 
the suspicion ; and the delay of this paper may prove the fatal termi- 
nation of some poor innocent man's existence ! Let me look again — 
Middleton barracks ! What is best to be done r He appears to be 
dead, or dying. I must procure assistance, and get him secured, 
whilst I proceed to Middleton, and investigate this matter. Who 
comes here ? 

Enter Jerry Slowed, r. 

Jerry. Hallo ! Vot's up here ? Yen I says, Yot's up ? I means 
Yot's the matter ? I suppose that respectable indiwidual has been up 
to his tricks, and you've knocked him doxcn on the head. 

Herbert. No, no ; he has not molested me ; but I have every rea- 
son to suppose that some unfortunate person has fallen in his way. 
But tell me, friend, is there a habitation near ? 

Jerry. Yonder's my master's ouse ; and ven I says 'ouse, I means 
an 'abitation, and it's more like an 'ovel than an 'ouse. I used to 
live at Oakleigh, with Sir Archibald Redburn ; but now 

Herbrrt. You say you lived Mith Sir Archibald ? Tell me, is his 
sister Jane still alive ? 

Jerry. Yell, according to an account I read in this morning's pa- 
per, — and ven I says read, I means perused 

Herbert. Well, Avell ! 

Jerry. No, no, she is not alive ; she is almost dead ; and ven I says 
dead, I means defunct ; for her son, who was allers supposed to be 
the child of old Mrs. Lonsdale, who died some time ago at Oakleigh, 
is now under sentence of death at Middleton. 

Herbert. Lleaven ! how mysterious are thy ways ! Come, come, 
young man ! quick ! Assist me to bear this man, if he be still alive, 
to the inn, whe]-e I will procure horse, and away at once to Middle- 
ton. Come, come ! 

Jerry. {Approaching Bates, and looking at him.) Why, no ! and 



SCENE Til.] SEVEN YEARS OF A SOLDIEU'S LIFE. 41 

ven I says no, I means yes. O, here's a diskiveiy ! Why, this is 
Bates, my old master that was ! He was transported only two years 
ago. O the villain ! He's slipped 'em, then ! Well, this is a pre- 
cious go ! 

Herjert. For mercy's sake, delay not ! A poor creature's life de- 
pends upon my speedy departure from hence. Come, assist me ! You 
can tell them at the inn to detain him till I return. 

Jerry. O, I'll take care of him, r.ever fear ! I owe him a grudge 
for the many kicks he's given me ; and so does poor Fred. Lonsdale, 
for it was this villain that caused him to enlist for a sojer. ( They lift 
tip J) ATE^, and are bearijig him of, ii.) I've got you, ^Ir. Bates. You'll 
never sell anj'- more hog's lard for genuine bear's grease. (^Exeunt, R.) 



Scene YII. — Barrack Yard. Soldiers arranged at back. FREDEPacK, 
Lonsdale, c, in tchite pants, shirt, and jacket. He is very pale. A 
coffin upon the ground behind him. Colonel and other officers, L. 
corner. A fde of soldiers, L. H., close to the wings. Two drum- 
mers, L. ir. 

Fred. Friends and comrades, you see before you one whose eyes in 
a few brief minutes will be closed in death, whose heart will have 
ceased to beat, whose form will be reduced to its native earth. I am 
about to appear in the presence of one at whose footstool no falsehood 
may be told. I declare, then, that the evidence which Mr. Langley 
and others bore against me was alike colored, tortured, and exagger- 
ated, so as to bring about this awful catastrophe. Of that, I will say 
no more. But, if a sense of bitter wrong will not permit me, even in 
this supreme moment, to say that I forgive those enemies, if human 
nature asserts its empire even until the very last instant when it is 
about to dissolve away, yet do I earnestly and eutreatingly implore 
Heaven to touch their hearts, and lead them, when I am gone, to be 
more merciful, more forbearing, more chrixtian-like to others who shall 
remain subject to their authority. Friends and comrades, I have 
little more to say, — it is only this, — that had circumstances of war 
ever called us to mingle in scenes of strife, I should have borne my 
part as a man. I should not have shrunk from where perils were 
greatest and dangers were thickest. Imagine not, therefore, that my 
heart will fail me, now that in a few short minutes 1 shall meet death, 
face to face. I am ready ! (Humfhrey approaches -wilh a handker- 
chief to place over his eyes.) 

Hump. Lonsdale, forgive me for having any share in these proceed- 
ings, but I cannot help it ! 

Fr.'d. Forgive you, my poor friend ! i'ou are but an automaton, 
as every one is v,ho enters the ranks of this army. {Shaking him by 
the hand.) Farewell ! God bless you all ! (^Masic. — He kneels, prays, 
and then retires to foot of coffin.) 

Hump. {Ties handkerchief over Fred's etjes.) God bless you! 
{Retires to J..) 

(Colonel motions the soldiers to make ready. At this moment Regi- 
nald Herbert is heard loithout.) 
4* 



42 THE BRITISH SLAVE ; OR, [ACT IV. 

Herbert. I must and will enter ! (^Rushes in almost breathless.) 
Stop ! Stop the execxitlon ! Pardon ! Free pardon for Frederick 
Lonsdale ! 

Fred. Pardon ! 

Herbert. {Caliing off, L.) Admit all ! 

Enter Lucy and child ; she rushes into Frederick's arms. 

Lacy. Frederick ! 
Fred. Lucy ! 

Herbert. There, Colonel Wyndam, is his majesty's free pardon. 
Read. 

Col. Lang. 'Tis coiTect. 

Fred. Who, then, is my preserver ? 

Enter Sir Archibald and Dr. Coloctxth, l. 

Sir A. I am. 

Fred. Sir Archibald ! Impossible ! 

Sir A. Sir Archibald Ptcdburn, thy uncle, is thy preserver. 

Fred. "What do I hear ! my imcle ? 

Sir A. Yes, you are my sister's child. 

Fred. And she 

Sir A. Is dead. 

Herbert. Poor, poor Jane. (Much affected.) 

Sir A. Were you, then, acquainted "svith my sister, sii', that you 
thus familiarly 

Herbert. Alas ! yes ; twenty-six years ago we were betrothed. Cir- 
cumstances compelled me to go to India, where I remained until a 
few days since I arrived in England ; and I v,-as on my way to Oak- 
leigh, to learn if she was still alive, when I encountered the wretched 
man ft-om whom I procured the pardon, and 

Colo. Twenty-six years ago ! Your name, sir-, your name. 

Herbert. Reginald Herbert. 

Colo. Merciful powers ! It is your father ! (To Fred.) 

Fred. O, this is too much happiness ! I can scarcely believe 

Sir A. Listen, young man : my poor sister, on her death bed, re- 
vealed a secret which for years had weighed upon her mind, and 
finally caused her death. The woman Lonsdale, who adopted you, 
■svas your ov/n mother's nurse. Shame for her imprudence prevented 
my sister froni acknowledging you as her son, imtil, hearing you were 
condemned to death, she could no longer conceal the secret. 

Herbert. ]\Iy son ! my son ! (Embracing.) 

Sir A. I used my influence in procuring your- pardon ; I succeeded, 
and sent my son on here with it. 

Herbert. Still more woe ! Ah, sir, yoiir son, then, has doubtless 
fallen a victim to the ruffian who 

Jerri/. (Without.) Make way there for the m.urderer. 



SCENE VII.] SEVEN YEARS Oj A SOLDIER'S LIFE. 43 

Enter Jerry, l,, dragging on Bates, loho appears almost lifeless. He 
falls in c. 

Fred. It's that villain. Bates ! 

Jerry. That's him ! the manufacturer of real genuine bear's grease 
out of hog's lard. They are bearing his victim this way. 

Filter four villagers, bearing the body of Gerald Redburn upon a 
rude couch. 

Sir A. Gerald, my boy — dead ! Murdered ! O, for what mis- 
ery am I reserv^ed ! {Falls upon the body.) 

Bates. ( Writhing in agony.) Ha, fiends ! tear not at my throat 
thus ! 'Twas I — I murdered him ; but it was for gold — gold — 
that I did it ! — the bane, the curse of my existence ! But I have 
avoided transportation in a foreign clime ; I have cheated them, and 
thee, Sir Archibald ! — I die — I die ! Frederick Lonsdale, I have 
been thy enemy through life, and it was for — gold — gold — and lo 
— the end — I'die — I — O ! (Dies.) 

Fred. Villain ! remorseless wretch ! thy crimes have met their just 
reward. The years of misery, anguish, and despair I have endui-ed, 
thou hast to answer for now, at the judgment seat of heaven. 

Sir A. Mr. Lonsdale, forgive me, forgive my son, for the treatment 
you have received at our hands ; for my eyes are now indeed open to 
the fearful truth that I have smned, deeply sinned against thee. But 
if a contrite heart, deep remorse, and undeviating repen'tence in future, 
can atone for the past, believe me, I will deserve your pardon. You 
shall share my wealth, you shall fill the place of that son whose un- 
timely loss I now dejplore — only say that you forgive me. {Kneels 
to him.) 

Fred. Sir Archibald, this is more than I expected. Pray rise, and 
if I cannot by words express the sentiments of my heart, it' is because 
I am encompassed alike with so much joy and sorrow. But, sir, at 
the moment when I expected to be untimely ushered into the presence 
of the Omnipotent Ruler of all hearts, my enemies were forgiven by 
me ; and I trust that He will as freely pardon them. And if our kind 
friends here will grant their approbation for the course I have pursued, 
and pardon them also, they will give liberty to and make happy a 
poor man, who for seven years has been "A British Slave." 



CURTAIN. 



ive and Murder 
ivein Li\ery 
cretia Borgia 
.dy of Lyons 
ives Sacrifice 
ive Chase 1 lie 
iiulon Assurance 
>ok before you Leap 
)ve 



CATALOGUE CONTINtfED. 

Pocahontas 

Prdty Piece of Busings 

Paddy Carey 

Paddy The Piper 

Pet of the PetticoatSi 

Poor Pillicody 

Perplexing Predicament 

Paul Pry 

Pizarro 

Poor Gentleman 

Passing Cloud The 

P P. or Mau and llger 

Perfection 

Pride of the Mark 

Pleasant 2veighbor 

Poor Soldier The 

Padlock 'i he 

Prize The 

Prommissory Note The 

Paul and Virginia 

Pickwick Club 

Pauline 

Parents and Guardians 

People's Lawyer 

Patrician's Daughter 

Queen's Jewel 

Queen of the Abruzzi 

Review The 

Kobber's Wife 

Rory O'Moore 

Romance is. Reality 

Roland for an Oliver A 

Hosina Meado .vs 

Kakes Progre.^s The 

Raising the "W ind 

Richelieu 

lioad to Ruin 

Romeo and J uliet 

Robbers Ihe' 

Rivals The 

Richard III 

Rent Day T'le 

Rough Diarliond The 

Ransom lb ; 

Robert Ma< aire 

Sea of Ice 

Sailor ot France 

Sunshine l.hrough the 

St. Cupid/ 

Six Degrtjes of Cri 

Sophias ^upper 

Satan in/ Paris 

Spring a/nd Autumn 



)an of a Lover 

ike the Laborer 

i\e in humble Life 

ttle Treasure 

)ve in a Village 

3re Blunders than One 

y Aunt 

m and Wife 

isks and J'aces 

;rry Wives of Windsor 

chael Erie 

dsumer Night's Dream 

am my The 

3ll Pitcher 

icbeth 

" Travestie 
srchant of Venice 
3ney 

arco Spado 
jb Cap The 
arning Call 
r & Mrs White 
aurice the Woodcutt'ir 
:)mentous Question 
ach ado about Nothing 
Duntaineers The 
irried and Single 
ind your own Business 
aid of Croissey 
irried Rake 
ary Queen of Scots 
y Wife's Diary 
y Neighbors Wife 
iller and his Men 
atteo Falcone 
aid of Florence 
other and Child are 

doing well 
y Uncle 
y Grandmother 
idelaiiie 
3unram Sylph 
an of many Friends 
iture and Philosophy 
;w Footman Ihe 
iturc's Nobleman 
>rvous Man 
ipped in the Bud 
3W Way to Pay Old 

Debts 
3. 1 Round the Corner, 
ival Engagements 
d Guard the 
hello 

)posite Neighbors 
nnibus The 
),ject of Interest 
d lie ads and Young 

Hearts 
d Maids 
d Chateau 
d Oak 'i ree 
lulJoncs 

csumptive Evidence 
•ppiug the Question 

Ten of t he above for On 



ime 



Shandy /Magiiire 
Still Walters Run Deep 
Spectre /Bridegroom 
Sergeaik'sWifeilK 
Swiss Siwams The 
Schoel /for Scandal 
Soldieifs Daughter 
Seriou/s Family 
She St/oops to Conquer 
Stran _ 

i for Grown Child- 



Scho' 

3c! 
SchoJ 

Swisl 



for Prodigals 
Ifor Authors 
1 for Arrogance 
Cottage The 
r aiid Crasher 
Sea ICaptain 'Ihe 
iSenft to the Tower 
|Spc/tdthe Plough 
Sin tpson & Co 



Slas 



Sweethearts and Wives 

She would & she would'n 

Sketches in India 

Sardanap.alus^ 

St Patrick's Kve 

Secret 'ihe 

Secret Service 

Spitfire The 

Seven Clerks The 

Scholar The 

The two Buzzards 

Teddy the Tiler 

To Paris and Back. 

Temper 

Three weeks afer Mar 

riage 
Toodles The 
Town and Country 
Twelfth Night 
Two Bonny Castlfes 
'Twould Puzzle a Conju 

ror 
Two in the Morning 
Two Gentlemen of Vero- 
na 
Temptation 
Tom Noddy's Secret 
Taken in and done for 
Therese 
Too Much of a good 

thing 
Turning the Tables 
Teddy Roe 

Two Loves and a Life 
Tom Cringle 
IwO Gregories 
Ugolino 
I'sed Up 
Tncle John 
Van Dieman's Land 
Vidocq 

Venice Preserved 
Virgin ins 

Vicar of Wakefield 

Village Lawyer 

Vampire, The 

Ways and Means 

Wild Oats 

Wandering Vlinstrel The 

Wanted one Thousand 
Milliners 

Willow topseThe 

Widow s Victim The 

Wife 'the 

William Tell 

AVriting on the Wall 

Wolf and Lamb 

Wilful Murder 

Werner 

White Horse of the Pep- 
pers 

Weathercock The 

Who Si)eaks First 

Wraith of Lake 

Wives bv Advertisement 

Wonder The 

Wreck Ashore 

Whistle for it 

Young Widow The 

Yes 

Yes or No 

Yeoman';5 Daughter 

Yellow Kids 

Za Ze Zi Zo Zu 

Dollar. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 



BOSTOISr T 




014 493 454 4 # 



k eolIeetioD of Scarce Acting Tragedies, Comedies, Dramas, Farces, and Bnrlettas. 

UNIFOBM IN PRICE AND STYLE. 

EACH NUMBER 12 i CENTS, - - - 10 FOR ONE DOLLAR. 

Bound Tolmnes, — — »- One I>ollan > 



VOL. I. 

1 Moll Pitcher 

2 The Forest Rose. 

3 Swiss Swains. 

4 Bachelor's Bedroom. 

5 Sophia's Supper. 

6 A Roland for an Oliver 

7 Black-eyed Susan. 

8 John Bull. 

VOL. ir. 

9 Satan in Paris [one 

10 More Blunders than 

11 Kosina Meadows. 

12 The Dumb Belle. 

13 My Aunt. 

14 Spring and Autumn. 

15 Six Degrees of Crime. 

16 Limerick Boy. 

VOL.fi:III. 

17 Presumptive Evidence 

18 Man and Wife. 

19 The Sergeant's Wife. 

20 Masks and Faces, [sor 

21 Merry Wives of Wind- 

22 Nature & Philosophy. 

23 Agnes de Vere. 

24 bhandy Maguire. 

VOL. IV. 

25 Wild Oats. 

26 Michael Erie. 

27 Teddy the Tiler. 

28 Spectre Bridegroom. 

29 Idiot Witness. 

30 Willow Copse. 

31 Matteo Falcone. 

32 People's Lawyer. 

VOL. V. 

33 Jenny Lind. 

34 Comedy of Errors 

35 Lucretia Borgia. 
36aSurgeon of Paris. 

37 Patrician's Daughter. 

38 The two Buzzards. 

39 Shoemaker of Toulouse 

40 Momentous Question. 



VOL. VI. 

41 Love and Loyalty 

42 Robber's Wife. , 

43 Happy Man. 

44 Dumb Girl of Genoa. 

45 Wreck Ashore. 

46 Clari. 

47 Miller and his Men. 

48 Wallace. 



VOL. VII. \ 

49 Madelaine. , 

50 Betsy Baker. \ 

51 The Fireman. \ 

52 No. 1, Kound the Cbrner. 

53 Teddy Roe. \ 

54 Grist to the Miil. 1 
56 Object of Interest t 

56 two Loves and a I,ife. 

VOL. VIII. i 

57 Anne Blake. ' 

58 My Fellow Clerk. ^ 

59 Bengal Tiger. ; 

60 The Steward. 

61 Captain Kyd. 

02 Nick of the Woods. 

63 The Marble Heart. 

64 Laughing Hyena. 

VOL. IX. 

65 Yo'ng Wife & old Umb'U 

66 Ladies' Battle. 

67 Raffaelle the Reprobate. 

68 Advice to Husbands. 

69 Dream at Sea 

70 Siamese Twins. 

71 Green Bashes. 

72 Flowers of the Forest. 

VOL. X. 

73 The First Night. 

74 The Rake's Progress 

75 Pet of the Petticoats 

76 The Eton Boy 

77 Wardering Minstrel 

78 Wanted 1000 Milliners 

79 Poor Pillicody 

80 Breach of Promise 



VOL. XI. 

81 The Mummy 

82 The Review 

8^ Lady of the Lake 

84 Still Water Runs Deep. 

85 Man of Many Friends 

86 Love in Livery 

87 Antony and Cleopatra 

88 The Scholar 

VOL. XII.^ 

89 Helping Hands 

90 Aladdin 

91 Trying it On 

92 Stage Struck Yankee 

93 Green Mountain Boy 

94 Rural Felicity 

95 Rory O'More 

96 Ella Rosenburg 

VOL. XIII. 
97 Forty and Fifty 
96 Adrienne, the Actress 
99 Strathmore 

100 The Wonder 

101 John Jones 

102 Pleasant Dreams 

103 Beulah Spa 

104 Irish Widow 



VOL. XIV. 

105 Belle's Stratagem 

106 The British cJlave. 

107 I, 
106 Village Doctor 

109 Bear Hunters 

110 Nicholas Nickleby 

111 Foundling of the Forest 

112 Adopted Child 

VOL. XV. 
1118 Last Man 
114 Matrimony 
'ill5 Cramond Brig 

16 Lucille. 

17 Love and Charity. 
l\l8 Sent to the Tower 

1 19 Norman Leslie 
li» Peter Bell 



Toieether with many valuable pieces i\iever in print. 

WM. V. SPENCEfe, Publisher, 

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